Never In Your Favor
by admiralridic
Summary: Pretty Little Liars AU/Hunger Games Crossover. Paige McCullers was the first victor to come out of District Four after her stunning win in the 19th Hunger Games but she's about to learn that her greatest challenge comes in the form of Emily Fields, the first female tribute she has to mentor.
1. 20th Hunger Games

Chapter One: 20th Hunger Games

When I was a child my mother would sit me on her knee and tell the most extravagant stories for hours and hours on end. She had these books, old ones from a time before even she was born. From another time, she'd say, as she read tall tales of brothers Karamazov and great Gatsby's. At the age of six I was too young to understand the implications of her actions, reading these books, banned by the Capital, to me while my father toiled away on his fishing boat. I didn't even understand the meaning after she disappeared and my father burned the remnants of the private time I'd cherished with her. I do now. My name is Paige McCullers, resident of District Four and as of one year ago its' first Hunger Games victor.

I hate trains, always have, in District Four we're simple fishing folk. I'm much more comfortable swimming for miles in the ocean than traveling 200 miles per hour in this steely death trap manufactured by those bastards in District Two. And after I drowned their tribute as my final kill to win the 19th Hunger Games, I wouldn't be surprised if this machine is rigged to kill us all at any moment.

Honestly, death would be preferable to my current fate. I've survived the Hunger Games which to my current calculations has claimed the lives of 436 of Panem's finest twelve to eighteen year olds, I've survived the "victory" tour where my admittedly limited social skills were put on full display and now I get the great _honor_ of mentoring the two poor kids who were just reaped from my district. I, Paige McCullers, by virtue of winning get to now usher these two souls to an almost certain death. Lucky me.

"It's in insane to actually meet _the_ Paige McCullers. First District Four victor." The male tribute whispers, well at a volume he believes to be a whisper, to the tribute sitting next to him. I think his name is Ben but to be honest I tried to block him out during the reaping. Beaming and preening for the camera like the lottery he'd just won didn't have the prize of death. Tall and broadly built but maybe fifteen years of age, he has a fair shot of surviving for a while inside the arena if he has any sort of natural fighting instinct. Based on his build I would hope that he was at least familiar with a trident if not proficient with its use, that would at least make my job at bit easier. Maybe I could even spend less time with his training; but he has an unpleasant and nauseating personality to say very the least and sponsorship will be a challenge unless I can change him radically in the next two weeks. Not likely.

The girl sitting next to him is far more fascinating to me. When her name was called during the reaping she hardly reacted, sure there was a certain resignation in her eyes but otherwise she presented an aura of eerie calm, almost as if she'd already accepted her fate. I still haven't decided if that makes her smarter than the rest of them or a moron. She's gorgeous at eighteen years of age with deep brown eyes and silky black hair. I certainly won't have a problem finding sponsors for her in the arena if she has any sort of physicality that will allow her to survive longer than the cornucopia.

The girl, Emily, rolls her eyes at him and then nods her head towards me. "If I remember correctly, she's not deaf Ben. She can hear you."

Ben has a brief moment of decency and at least looks ashamed for a moment before launching into a full onslaught of questions. When do he get to start working with weapons? Is this Capital as huge as people say it is? Do I know what the arena is going to look like this year? And then I'm subjected to an almost gleeful speculation in reaction to my sickened silence. After what seems like an eternity of his interrogation I feel like the tenuous hold I have on my anger is going to erupt at any moment. You'd think he would take a hint seeing as I haven't answered a single one of his question. It'd be a shame to kill one of my tributes before the Capital got their hands on him, they'd be so disappointed. On second thought, it might be worth it.

I'm interrupted from my murderous machinations with a loud harrumph from our escort Fulton, bellowing ridiculously at us in that awful Capital accent, "Dinner is served." I can hardly hold back the contents of my stomach every time she opens her surgically enhanced mouth. The sight of her pea green skin and cat-like features never fail to send me into Capital induced terrors, one glimpse of her is enough to make me wish that District Two tribute had bested me that fateful day. And were the odds ever in my favor.

Dinner is a tense affair. I can mostly pick around at the wasteful Capital-provided meal; I haven't had much of an appetite since my stint in the Games, especially not for food from the Capital. I spend much of dinnertime plotting Fulton's death instead; I find it to be a comforting mental pursuit.

The tributes seem to have no such compunction about the endless food in front of them, by the way they were shoveling down you'd think that we were starved in District Four. Far from it, other than District's One and Two we're probably the most well-off district especially since the heaps of food provided by the Capital as a reward for my win. Nary is there a starving mouth and certainly not akin to what I witnessed on my victory tour in District's Eleven and Twelve. Nevertheless Emily and especially Ben seem awestruck by the plates of candied, fried and smothered delicacies. Fine, let the tributes stuff their traps. At least that's probably at least a hundred fewer questions I'll be forced to answer. The less I'm forced to speak, the smaller the chance that they'll realize they're fucked with me as a mentor.

After the plates are cleared from the table I'm relieved when Fulton flees the cabin like our lack of relative sophistication is a direct affront to her very existence. Also a relief is the tributes stuffed stomachs. Ben can barely move and forget pestering me, that's out of the question. He waddles to the nearest sleeping cabin, not truly necessary as the ride from District Four to the Capital is not very long, and slowly but surely disappears from my sight. Emily, however, isn't interested in leaving. She remained firmly seated at the table, eyes trained on me as I move to a reclining chair nearby.

"Why didn't you eat?" I'm startled by the tone of her question, not visibly of course, but she seems almost concerned which makes no sense as I've given her no illusion of kindness thus far.

I take a second to devise a response, finally deciding on brief and gruff. "Wasn't hungry." It's a short response but every word is measured carefully, I don't speak much these days, not unless I'm forced like now, and every syllable is an uphill battle.

Many others, especially those who witnessed my performance on the Games would have left well enough alone. But not this girl, her eyes flashed a glimpse of challenge. It's the first bit of emotion she's showed, well, except maybe hunger but that doesn't count.

She scrunches her eyes, focusing intently on me. In another time and another place I'd almost call the action adorable but this is Panem and it's never another time and there is no other place and those thoughts get banished to the place where everything good goes to die. A deep chamber deep inside my brain labeled 'Do Not Touch, Not Ever'.

"I'm going to die aren't I." She doesn't seem to be asking a question so much as making a blunt statement so I only shrug non-committedly and let her continue. "Well, if I am then I'd at least like to go out with a fight. I don't want to be one of those tributes, the nameless ones whose blood gets splattered all over fresh weapons pulled straight from the cornucopia. I don't want people back in the District talking about 'poor Em', I want a fighting chance."

This isn't the first time I've heard a speech like this. The male tribute I was reaped with, a gentle pacifist named Sean, sat in a cabin much like this one and made a speech just like the one Emily is making to me now. As soon as he was chosen his family had written him off, he wasn't impressive by any means and they believed in his almost certain death. He sat, very near to where Emily sits now, and pleaded, I guess to me, for a fighting chance. When he was split in half like lumber with an axe by a particularly vicious tribute from District Seven on the very first day, well, let's just say I had extra motivation to win.

"Look, Emily." I started but stopped short of an actual thought, gone was her resolve and left across from me was a vulnerable woman who'd been ripped from her home and sent to the unknown on the last reaping of her eligibility. Suddenly I saw glimpses of myself, it wasn't but a year ago I was Emily except I didn't have a mentor. There was no guide but my own primal instinct. But who am I to give her false hope? The only thing more dangerous than unbridled fear was a glimmer of hope.

I rise from my chair and cross the short space until I'm standing in front of her chair.

"Look at me because I'm only going to say this once." I have her full attention. "I'm shit at this, alright. I don't know how to prepare you. You'd have been better off alone, honestly, you would have. Winning is a curse I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I wish I'd died. You want a chance, there's your chance. Die. It's the only path to happiness. This surviving thing, its shit. Absolute shit."

I can tell that she's shocked; surely she expected some motivational speech straight from the novels my mother used to read me. Hope is a fucking lie. Her tears have dried up and the air is stolen straight from her chest. I don't wait for her counter before I storm out of the cabin to my own personal quarters.

We haven't even reached the Capital and I'm already a failure.


	2. Pride

Chapter Two: Pride…

I feel more than hear the train come to a jarring halt; you'd think with all of their advances they'd be able to stop a fucking train calmly. I guess not. Worse than the concussion I'm sure I have is the certainty that we've now arrived to our destination in the Capital. Hordes of exorbitant fools, thousands upon thousands are most certainly gathered at the exit of our train, clamoring to see the latest victims of their foolishness.

Sure enough, right on cue someone taps on the door of my cabin lightly. These knocks are tentative which rules out Fulton immediately. Before I can decide whether or not I want to play dead in my room, the identity of the gentle knock is revealed as she peaks her head inside my cabin. Emily, of course, you can a beat a puppy right on the nose and an hour later they'll be slobbering at your feet.

"We're here." She mumbles timidly, I guess all is not completely forgotten. I'd be a complete idiot to presume to tell someone to go fuck herself and not deal with some hurt feelings. Pity.

"Fine." Emily stands expectantly in my doorway as if pouting at me will magically draw an apology from my pursed lips. After a tense moment she seems to give up on any illusions of the goodness of my heart and leaves me alone.

This is it, Paige. As soon as I step outside of this room, off that platform, I'm officially responsible for those two lives.

I already have blood on my hands, that's not the problem. Killing strangers inside the arena is nothing. Those people never had a chance to mean anything to me. Eviscerated the boy, and he was a boy, from District Nine without a second thought. My first kill and there was so much blood. But I didn't know him from the sword I used to do it. No matter. Five kills in total during the Games, I have enough blood on these hands to last three lifetimes.

Take a deep breath, Paige. In. Then out. In. Exhale. Exiting this cabin means the certainty that in about a month's time I'll have the blood of at least one more to my tally. Let's be real, two more.

Can I really do this? I rise from my chair and take care to smooth down my hair and clothing before I grasp the doorknob. It's time.

It's a brief walk to the exit doors and I can't look out the windows I pass by without setting my eyes on the swarms of eager Capital citizens. My mother had this saying, 'a sight for sore eyes'; I can't help but think that those people are the kind of thing that makes eyes sore in the first place. Mine are practically ready to bleed.

Speaking of eyes, I roll mine as they fixate on my tributes that have once again fallen under the seductive spell of the Capital. I try to remember my own arrival; even in hindsight I don't remember being this cloying. No matter, they're doing my job for me. Maybe they're just those naturally amenable sorts of people. The Capital will fall in love with them and I can sleep at night with my hands off approach.

"Come on, wave and walk. Wave and walk." Fulton seems to have taken over, escort training overriding any previous reservations about these tributes. She trills instructions at Emily and Ben attempting to guide them to both fascinate the crowd and go forth towards their stylists' headquarters. It's an amusing juggling of tasks and I enjoy watching her struggle to corral them.

Wrapped up in the excitement of our arrival I lose track of my tributes once Fulton sweeps them away. I realize that I'm lost as well. Last year when I arrived I was Ben and Emily, I was the tribute being swept away into the abyss on my way to certain torture in the form of a complete image overhaul. Eyebrows plucked near bare, hair ripped from every available surface and pore, pain and unimaginable humiliation.

Now as I stand in an abandoned hallway, I am exceedingly aware of the fact that I have no fucking clue where I'm supposed to go. Think Paige, what's next? Ah, now I remember, after the makeover comes the tributes parade, if only I knew where that was and where I was supposed to be. It's like a perverse children's song rolling through my mind. _Down in the hallway with no place to go, how will poor Paige get to the show? _

I guess that's the problem with being the first person to survive, there is no mentor's mentor.

My decision to just lean against the wall and falter is ripped from me as Fulton reappears, seemingly out of nowhere, and manhandles me down the hallway. If I wasn't still in shock from her abrupt arrival I might have struggled but instead I just go functionally limp as I assume she's taking me where I need to go.

Fulton, one. Paige, eternally zero. Like I figured, I'm now backstage surrounded by a group of eighteen others who have the same look in their eyes as me. Of course, most don't carry the added confusion of being a mentoring virgin but the darkness, the empty hull. That I recognize. These are my fellow mentors, 'victors' just like me. I recognize a few from recent Games I'd watched and others I don't recognize at all.

We're in the perfect position to watch the chariots as they roll into the packed stadium. I peer my head out of our cramped enclave and look around, there has to be at least 100,000 people here. Maybe more.

Finally after what seems like an eternity, probably ten minutes, the ceremonies begin with the chariots arrival cutting a path straight through the stadium.

I can't decide if it's a blessing or a curse that my tributes are so close to the beginning of the parade. First seen, first forgotten? Will they finally be dressed to make a lasting impression? Tributes from District Four get a shit deal, always. Most Games the stylists send us to the tribute parade in varying states of nudity. If we're lucky we get draped with a net and possibly get to hold a trident.

The chariot for District Three is particularly bizarre this year; the tributes are just wrapped in wires and covered head to toe in flashing lights, a particularly ridiculous homage to their electronics industry. Their chariots arrival can mean only one thing.

Here they come, Ben and Emily, I have to squint to see them in the distance but it doesn't look good, even from afar. I can tell from the crowds hush that they're not impressed, not excited in the least. As they get closer I can see why. Their entire bodies are covered in exceptionally disgusting looking seaweed and they brandish the traditional net and trident. It's underwhelming and that may be an overstatement.

An unexpected rage fills my body; don't these prep teams know that every single moment matters? A boring opening outfit diminishes interest in tributes; a poor initial impression can mean almost certain death. Lack of interest cuts just as deep as the sharpest knife.

I fume through the rest of the ceremony, the crowd enthuses at particularly inspired costumes from District's Seven and Eleven but I can't see past the unnecessary obstacle my tributes have been thrown.

Strangling their whole prep team flits to the front of my mind as I wait for Ben and Emily to meet Fulton and I in the corridor so we can make our way to the floor we'll be staying on for the next two weeks. Every mistake someone else makes puts more pressure on me. Pressure to perform, to mentor, and to not fail. I clench my fists and breathe out my violent thoughts like I've practiced all my life.

I don't speak to anyone as we take the elevator to our floor but the tone of our party is appropriately subdued. Apparently my tributes have a minute sense of atmosphere and fully understand they'd underwhelmed the expectant crowd.

Arrival to our quarters doesn't elevate the mood and the tributes brush by the promise of a large meal to retire to their rooms. Fulton shows them the way and returns to find me slouched on the couch, despondently staring at the wall.

"Why don't you just kill them yourself?" Oh yes, lovely, it's pep talk time.

I barely trouble her a glance. "Fuck off, Fulton. It's none of your business."

She giggles, it's quite unsettling actually. Add that to the list of things I'll hear in my nightmares. "Actually, it is the very definition of my business. We all have our roles. I am the escort to the tributes of District Four, you are their mentor. I escort, you mentor. Should I write that down for you?"

"No, I think I got it. Thanks." I clench my eyes and press the heels of my hands down on them. Desperately trying to block out the migraine barreling towards my brain. Maybe if I press down hard enough I'll go blind and have an excuse to be this useless.

"No, I don't think you do." Fulton won't relent, pressing forwards towards the couch where I'm attempting to rest. "You have two tributes in their rooms, sulking, how do you think that reflects on your District? On me? The lethargic losers from District Four. Go, talk to them. I don't care what you do. Tell them they'll live, both of them. Lie to them."

She punctuates her last statement with a sharp poke to my chest. I barely register the sting. This isn't a speech for my own good, not even theirs. Her ass is exposed, on the line so to speak. Tributes are meant to put on a good show; hers are failing right out of the gate. I recognize this for what it truly is, a cry for help.

I stand from the couch and leave the room; not even acknowledging that we were even in a conversation. I walk towards my room and stare at the door. I must stand there for about five minutes because I can feel my legs start to stiffen at their standstill.

The pride swelling up within my chest tells me to stop fucking around, to stop neglecting my duties. The abrasive voice of my father sneaks into the back of my mind but I quash it before he can invade further into my already damaged psyche. It would be so easy, so simple to just go to my room. Go to bed and wake up tomorrow renewed with the strength to do nothing once more. Instead I make the snap decision to walk three steps to my left and knock insistently on the door.

Emily opens the door, already dressed in nightclothes and obviously fresh from the shower. The entirety of my senses is overwhelmed with her essence, obviously Capital manufactured scents, but for one moment I allow myself to breathe it all in. She smells like home, its not possible of course but I close my eyes and pretend I can hear the sea crashing up onto shore, smell the salt and fresh sea air.

"Paige?" Of course, what kind of nuisance am I? Pounding on someone's door in the night only to stop and majorly violate her privacy.

"Right? Yes. May I come in?" She nods slowly; I can tell she's confused by my very presence let alone my erratic behavior.

In the span of an hour she seems to have already imprinted herself onto this room, every step feels like an invasion into her space. It doesn't seem proper to touch anything; instead I just hover awkwardly somewhere between the entryway and her bed. Sensing my discomfort she takes a seat on her bed, in my eye line, and waits.

I struggle to find a way to word what I have to say and thus we exist gracelessly within the same space while I fumble for words that will hold a semblance of meaning. "About what you…last night…I'm…"

"You're?" Emily quirks an eyebrow, seemingly transitioning from confused to slightly bemused in the span of one broken sentence.

"Sorry. For the way I talked to you yesterday." My entire body is on fire; I wouldn't be surprised if I was sweating. I can feel the walls closing in on me but I push through. "It was harsh, the way I put it. If you want dignity, grace in all of this. Well, I can't promise that. A chance. That's all I can offer, okay? I'm far from the best you've got but I'm all you have."

She nods, understanding that I've stretched myself to the limits of what I can give. I turn to leave, completely emotionally spent.

"Wait!" Emily scrambles off the bed and cuts off my path. "Wait. Thank you, Paige." She reaches out her hand to shake mine; I stare at it for a moment before begrudgingly accepting her gratitude. This must satisfy her as she steps aside and allows me to leave.

As I retire for the night I'm left with one thought. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

* * *

**Author's Note**: I was glad to get such a positive response and I hope that everyone is still enjoying. I definitely have a plan for where this is going and it might not be what some people are imagining but believe me, there is an endgame and I have no plans to abandon anytime soon. Updates will NOT be on a set schedule but I won't go months but don't freak out if there is a week separating, I'm in grad school and this is a decompression from all that. Otherwise, I love feedback and people's responses. It's very helpful.


	3. Before the Fall

Chapter Three:...Before the Fall

It's way too early for this shit, scratch that, on any other day in any other situation it would be way too early for this. But, as per my life, this is a unique occurrence. After a couple days of meaningless formalities and countless hours of pomp and circumstance it has come time for my tributes to take to their training. Well, it's not time quite just yet. It's just around six in the morning and they don't have to report until nine, right after breakfast.

I leave my room already awake and dressed for the day, in truth I haven't really been sleeping well since my talk with Emily two nights ago. Two early mornings in a row I've woken up in disgust wrapped in sheets soaked in my own stale cold sweat. I'm fairly sure the even the Avox who changes my linens is considering going on strike no matter the consequences. How could I sleep though? I'm only nineteen years old, as redundant as it sounds I'm only a year removed from being where Emily is now, only four from Ben. It's the blind leading the deaf, children leading children.

Speaking of, I knock softly on Ben's door. "Meeting in my room, five minutes. Wake up." I begin to walk down the corridor but then quickly spin back towards Ben's door and knock again slightly harder. "This is Paige."

I hear a disgruntled groan from inside the room and figure he must have read the clock and realized I'm rousing the troops a bit early this morning. It's for the best, if these kids don't have a sense of immediacy then it doesn't matter what I do. I might as well prepare brief memorials for them right now.

Emily is a tad easier to wake; it seems she's an early riser anyway. She doesn't seem like the sort but people surprise you every day. Sometimes even for the better. It only takes a few soft taps and she emerges from her room fully dressed in training clothes. She looks freshly showered and unlike two nights ago I make a special precaution to not breathe deeply to close to her.

"I heard you knocking on Ben's door so I got ready."

Her voice is deeper in the morning somehow like her body hasn't quite sorted out which way is up even though her mind seems to know already. She looks at me expectantly and I realize I've been staring. Again. Shit.

"Oh, um, yes. We have to talk. You, me and Ben." Do I always sweat this much? Do we have a medic on staff specifically for mentors? I'll have to look into that. "Training starts today, you know."

She grimaces slightly. "I know"

Before this little chat can turn into a full-fledged conversation Ben ambles out of his room, haphazardly dressed in his training uniform and stumbles towards my room.

"Guess that's our cue." I'm glad she's able to speak because I'm suddenly gripped with the feeling that I'm drowning. It's an otherworldly feeling. The feeling that you're trapped, that the walls are closing in on you, the feeling that some oppressive invisible force is holding you down.

It's enough to make me want to sprint towards our balcony and test the validity of the force field surrounding us, trapping us in this hell hole. Luckily I don't and instead just walk calmly to my room, Emily in tow.

"Ben, Emily. Sit wherever you want. We have to talk about training." Ben takes the chair closest to the door, slouching in it as though it's his claim. Emily surprisingly takes a seat on my bed even though there is another empty chair in the room. I refuse to look into that at all.

Ben speaks out first once they're both seated. "I don't see the point in talking about training." Emily shoots him what passes as a dirty look for her. If looks could kill, Ben would have a paper cut. "It's pretty straightforward to me. We go in there, we learn to kill. Then, we go kill. See…simple."

Clearing my throat I press on, I refuse to be bullied by a cocky fifteen year old. "I need to assess your skills. Do either of you have any? Think thoroughly. It doesn't have to be a direct application. Is there something in your regular lives you think could be useful in the arena?"

Emily opens her mouth to speak but is cut off as Ben jumps out of his chair. "This is stupid." He points to the District Four crest on his sleeve. "I didn't come here to talk about my feeling or assess anything. I came to fight and I came to win. I volunteered remember."

I'd forgotten about that. I had blocked so much out about Ben that it completely slipped my mind that he was the first volunteer to ever come out of District Four. It's not a surprise that it happened just that it happened now. There's been a growing push for a Career culture out of our district like in District's One and Two; Ben is a pioneer in that sense. I may have been the first winner but he's the first career. We both have our place in the history books.

He has a hand on the doorknob when he turns back to sneer at me one last time. "I don't know how you ever won. Meeting you has been the greatest letdown of my life. I have a right to train without you, I'm using it. When I win, it'll have nothing to do with you." With that he leaves with a slam of the door. I won't miss him.

"That wasn't how this was supposed to go, was it?"

I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the statement and soon Emily and I are both laughing at the situation. After a minute I stop because my abdominal muscles can't take any more abuse, even if this torture is welcome. It's been so long since I've laugh or really let myself be silly for even a moment that they're sorely out of practice.

I take a deep breath collecting myself for this serious conversation and sit where Ben recently vacated. "Let's get back to it. Where were we?"

Emily smiles and shifts on my bed. "You'd asked if I had any skills."

"Right, yes." I clear my throat, suddenly feeling a bit parched. I guess that'll happen when you're anxiously sweating fluids constantly. "Well, do you?"

Emily has enough dignity to look slightly offended. "Of course I do. I was raised in District Four just the same as you, Paige. I was an only child. My dad, he's a ship captain. My mom absolutely hated it but he took me out every weekend morning and taught me everything he knew. I'm athletic and quick and I can swim like a fish, it's like I have gills."

It's a goofy picture, imagining Emily with gills but coupled with the adorable image of imagining tiny Emily tying knots, stringing lines and catching fish. It's enough to leave a small smile on my face.

That smile fades when I imagine my own childhood. After my mother disappeared it was just my father and me. Unlike Emily there were no touching trips out onto the water full of father-daughter bonding. Instead I had to deal with being a living reflection of my mother, an image my father despised. I didn't understand fully when I was a child what was happening. All I knew was that my father couldn't stand to look at me most days.

My mother had betrayed my father. All along, all through the 'Dark Days' when he had fought staunchly for the Capital, even against his own family who joined the rebellion he believed that my mother was on his side. He had no idea that she was secretly working for the rebellion, feeding information that she'd gotten from him to the other side. My mother never meant to get pregnant with me, she was meant to get out but her extraction never came. I was born one year after the Capital won, after the destruction of District Thirteen. After I was born she decided she could never leave me. Never until that decision was taken away from her.

To this day I wish I'd never found her diary, stashed away in a box of my old childhood things in a place she knew my father would never touch, wish I'd never known. I wish that I spent the rest of my life thinking my father hated me because I was a failure. Not because there was no way he ever could.

I hear snapping and a voice and break from my reverie, I wonder how long I was catatonic. It happens sometimes. The smallest trigger and I'm gone. Sometimes for minutes, other times far long.

"Paige? Are you okay? Paige!"

I feel a shiver reverberate through my body and put up my hand. "I'm fine, sorry. That happens." I hate feeling vulnerable in front of anyone but in the span of a few days Emily has elicited more moments of vulnerability than others have experienced in a lifetime.

"Where did you go just now? It was like you weren't here anymore." She looks worried, I can't deal with that. I can barely deal with my own emotions.

"It's none of your business." I snap forcefully.

"It is. Remember what you said the other day? You're all I have." Emily bites back. "If that's true then I'd feel a lot more comfortable if you were actually here."

She has a point. Fuck, I hate that she has a point. Why won't she just let well enough go? "Okay fine, good. You had a great childhood. Papa Fields taught you how to tie a knot and sail a boat. Neither of those things can actual kill someone and there is no guarantee that this arena will be amphibious at all. In fact, the odds are not good considering last year's arena was. What else can you do?"

I pause waiting for a response but none comes. She seems a bit lost.

"Can you trident fish?" She shakes her head no. Great. "Have you ever handled a weapon?"

"Tools but never a weapon. I can gut a fish in under a minute. I know which plants will kill me. I can make shelter and tie any knot you can think of. Isn't that something?"

I consider that for a moment. "It's a start. You're not small which is a plus. You say you're athletic, that's good too. The survival skills are necessary, don't get me wrong. But if I sent you into the arena today it'd be you getting gutted like a fish."

"Well then it's a good thing I have two weeks to practice, isn't it?" She's sarcastic and I like that. It hints at some sort of edge beneath the surface. I have two weeks to expose it.

I smirk. "It certainly is." I stand and she takes that as her cue to stand as well.

"Are we done here?"

I nod my head and she opens the door.

"Wait!" It's my turn to the rush to the door and stop her in her tracks. Emily quirks that left eyebrow again and waits. "Small, lightweight weapons. That's what I want you to use. Anything too heavy will slow you down and ranged weapons require prior proficiency. Train hard but don't show all of your cards. Hold back but take everything in."

She nods and then surprises me by lunging in for a quick, tight hug. She must think I'm going to kill her for deigning to touch me because she sprints right out the door. I couldn't hurt her, I can't move. My body is in shock. Worse is that I had no way to put up my walls. The scent, her scent, the one I'd tried so hard to block out surrounds me. I'm surrounded by Emily.

It takes every logical bone in my body to force myself to hate it.

* * *

**Author's Note:** You all can thank the depressing Paige storyline last night for today's update. I needed to write through all of that pain we were presented with and apply it here. Hope everyone is still on board! Until next time.


	4. Baby Steps

Chapter Four: Baby Steps

Emily should be back any minute now, since she left this morning I haven't been able to think of anything else. The first day of training is the most nerve-wracking as a tribute; it's the first real chance that you get to scout the other competitors. Other than the four mandatory courses, the tributes are free to train the apparatus or skill they choose. Strangely, I'm excited for her return. I want to know everything.

My pacing is getting on Fulton's nerves, I can tell because every once in a while she clicks her tongue at me and mutters about heathens. I could give a fuck, this morning energized me. It would be a stretch to say I feel like a new person but certainly I have a purpose for the first time in what seems like an eternity.

The door opens and I stop in my tracks. Ben crashes in and storms right past me as if I didn't exist, all the while mumbling under his breath. Good. Is it wrong to hope he fails? Probably. Arrogant piece of shit.

The next time the door opens and I take a sigh of relief. It's Emily, seemingly in one piece after her first time. It doesn't surprise me, there are strict rules against the tributes getting into scuffles before the Games begin but accidents do happen. Last year a young girl from District Eleven nearly severed her pinky clear off training a weapon that was far too heavy for her, the sight was grotesque. I clearly remember losing my appetite that day.

"Hey." If she's surprised that I'm speaking to her, she doesn't show it.

Emily smiles and walks towards me. "Hello" She smiles like she knows the punch line to a joke I've never heard.

We stand in front of each other, with an awkward tension raising a thin wall between us.

Finally she speaks again. "I'm filthy and I have to shower. Can we meet in your room in twenty? I know you probably want to hear all about training."

I clear my throat. "Right, yes. I'll be waiting."

She nods and rushes off to her room, shaking her head almost imperceptibly; she has this way of making me feel like an idiot without doing anything. I'm supposed to be the mentor, the one who has the upper hand. And yet, somehow, she is always getting the best of me.

Leaving the main room isn't difficult for me and in retrospect I'm glad that Emily suggested we meet in my room. For some reason I'd feel awkward about suggesting we meet in either of our rooms. But since she suggested it, there's no feeling weird about it. Plus, Fulton's wig looks like it might be growing and I'd rather leave the room before her Capital head wear decides to kill me.

The time spent sitting on my bed waiting for Emily seems to inch along. My brain flits between thinking of strategy and attempting to not think about what might be taking so long. In fact, even abstract thoughts about Emily in any manner other than mentor-tribute have been blacklisted from my mental lexicon.

The knocks take me by surprise and I wonder how long I've been lost within my own mind. Obviously for longer than fifteen minutes.

I let her into my room and then immediately put as much space between us as possible. I'm excited to talk strategy but prior experience has taught me that I need to be as far away from her as possible to think clearly.

She squints at me suspiciously but takes a seat in the chair in the corner.

"Hmm, yes." I clear my throat, have I always been this phlegmy? "Tell me everything."

There goes that eyebrow again, taunting me. "Everything?"

I nod and pull out a notepad and pen from my bedside table. "Everything. Top to bottom. How were the mandatory exercises? What did you train? How did the other tributes look? Et cetera."

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I mean, we went through and everyone did some warm-ups, basic hand-to-hand, basic survival and strength exercises. Nothing too crazy." She stops like she's waiting for a response.

I don't really have anything to say, she hasn't really told me anything I don't know. I wave my right hand at her to tell her to elaborate.

She rolls her eyes at me and continues. "I worked mostly on training hand-to-hand with a dagger and working on counter attacks. Most of the other tributes looked scared, honestly. I mean, there was one girl from District One, Alison, who seemed pretty cocky and was menacing a few other tributes. Another girl from District Three, Mona?"

Emily stares off into space like she's trying to remember a detail.

"Yeah, Mona. She looked like she was trying to go under the radar, like me, but I saw her working when she thought no one was looking and she looked dangerous."

I keep writing in my notepad, this is actually useful information. Emily has actually impressed me today. I didn't even tell her to observe her competition and only asked curious to see how alert she was. Once again this girl has surprised me.

I jot down a few more notes and put down my pen. "Good job." I sit up straighter on the bed and cross my legs. "It seems like you've already developed a little bit of a strategy by yourself."

She frowns. "I wouldn't say by myself. I used what you told me this morning and what I excelled at in the mandatory workouts to spend my time wisely. I thought you'd be happy?"

Now I'm the one frowning, I guess I ooze sarcasm whether or not I want to. I can see how my prior statement could be construed as diminishing. "No, I am. I'm impressed actually."

That seems to appease her and she's back to her normal self. "I aim to please."

This woman is going to kill me. "What about alliances? Do you see any forming?"

She considers this. "That Alison girl, from District One. She looks like she's putting together a pack. Two tributes from District Two that I don't know, that Mona girl I told you about. And…well, I don't know how to tell you this."

I roll my eyes annoyed, if it's important information she needs to just spit it out. "Emily, spit it out!"

"Ben." She states matter-of-fact. "He's joined the Careers."

I knead my forehead and feel the distinct pulse of a massive migraine coming on, any previous excitement about this debriefing dissipating quickly.

"Great." I grind out. "And what about you? Make any friends, join any clubs?"

She slams her hand on the arm of her chair. I freeze because I don't think I've ever seen her this impassioned. In fact, in the days that I've known her, I know I haven't.

"I'm tired of this, Paige." She leaves her chair and moves through the room with every step encroaching on my personal space. "This is not how this is going to go. I'm not your punching bag, every time something goes wrong or you feel sorry about yourself it's not time to jump down my throat. We have a deal, don't we? Not Ben, you and me."

By the end of her speech she's sitting on the bed right next to me, and she's picked up my right hand and placed it between hers. "I need you to be present, Paige. Not just here, not just around but present. I have no chance of making it if you drift in and out at will. Be here with me, Paige. Everyone else can go to hell."

I try to swallow, try to breath, and try to do anything to clear my head. I was an asshole to her; sure, she didn't deserve that. But I wish she would just lash out back at me. I can't handle her invasion of my space. I wish it was only my physical space she was encroaching. She's sneaking into my mind and more dangerous, into my heart.

Anger, I can handle anger. I have a lifetime of practice. Disappointment, sure, I can do that. Compassion? Companionship? Understanding? Might as well be foreign languages. She has no right to ruin me like this. She has no right and yet I'll let her. Less than one week and already I know that if she asked me to jump, I'd grumble about it but at the end of the day I'd ask how high she'd like me to go.

"Yeah." I trap her top hand with my free hand, our hands entangled. "This isn't the first time I'm apologizing to you and it won't be the last. I'm learning same as you. We're in this together, Em. Promise."

She laughs shyly and ducks her head. "You called me 'Em'."

Did I? I think back to what I just said to her. I did. Fuck, what a moron am I?

I scramble to apologize but she cuts me off.

"No." She pauses, gathering her thoughts. "I liked it…reminds me of home."

"Good to know." I squeeze her hand between mine one more time, savoring her warmth against my natural coolness and put as much space between us as possible. She must sense that the moment is gone and leaves the room with only a whispered goodbye.

Our training meeting forgotten I sit back on my bed and feign reviewing the notes I took. In actuality all I think of is the feel of her hand in mine. My fingers tingle as I kick myself in the ass for ever breaking contact.

I've never felt things like these before and certainly never developed feelings this quickly or this irrationally. I'd be lying if I said that Emily would be my one and only, of course. Life was lonely after I came back home from the Games and there is never a shortage of suitors for the richest and most famous person in the District. Other than a few women here and there, the ones who I was sure could practice discretion, I kept to myself.

There is no rhyme or reason for falling for the woman who you're sending into a death trap. None. But I, Paige McCullers, have never been one for reason.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Ladies and gentleman, chapter four. I have to say, I had a little bit of trouble with this one but ultimately I think I'm happy with the way it turned out. Enjoy!


	5. Tick Tock

Chapter 5: Tick Tock

Something funny happens to your sense of pacing when you don't have much time at all. In a normal year, whatever that is, two weeks is a flash of time, a blink of a moment across a span of three hundred and sixty-five days? But two weeks in the Capital, two weeks spent preparing for the Games, it's a mind-fuck. You spend most of your time hovering between a feeling of anxiousness, too much time, and the anticipation killing you with every breath you take. And of course, not enough time at all. Wishing you could force yourself to evolve past sleep, past needing to breathe and spend every last second doing…something? I haven't quite figured out the specifics on that one yet.

This time last year I was deeply enthralled in my training, nothing to distract me but the feeling of my lungs burning, the feeling that I could never quite take a full breath. I thrived on that sensation, the feeling that every gasp was one closer potentially towards my last breath. I strove for that moment of emptiness, the floating feeling right before you pass out where you get one split second to realize that you've pushed yourself just _that much_ too far.

But now, after a week of watching Emily walk in and out of that towards training I'm struck with a different feeling. Selfishness, maybe? Every time she walks back through that door my heart stops, I try to recapture my headspace when that was me. Only with every moment, every second I feel that old Paige slip away. The Paige who could give a shit about anyone else, the Paige who, with every swing and every gasp, slipped farther and farther away from reality, from the known parameters of being. When Emily walks into the door, sometimes sweat-soaked and smirking, other times dragging her feet with a forlorn look on her face I find myself being thrust into the real world.

I came here with one rule, one general theory on my existence: don't care too much and nobody will get hurt. And before I met Emily that seemed like the easiest, most humane thing that I could do. After all, there was no mentor needed in my victor, just some Capital slaves who made sure I dressed well and smiled for the adoring crowds.

Instead I find myself slinking around the training areas during the day, scouting out information on other tributes. Slinking around the Capital when I'm not doing that, laying the crucial groundwork for the sponsors Emily will need once she enters the arena. To reassure myself I classify this effort as espionage, casting myself as a spy, the ultimate in deception, helpfully distracting myself from the central truth that the only person I'm deceiving is me.

Walking around in the Capital, dressed like the ultimate diplomat and passing around fake smiles and promises. If someone had told me this would be my life, one hundred out of one hundred times I would have killed them just for their ultimate offense to my very essence. I guess that'd be a hundred more kills on my body count to atone for.

Speaking of, if this snooze fest doesn't end soon I might have to sacrifice a potential sponsor or two in the name of boredom. I'm sitting in the office of the most opulent looking man, fat from years of feast without, it seems, even a moment's pause. In fact, as we speak he shovels some sort of cake down his throat.

"Ms…McCullers, is it? I cannot commit to one tribute as this very moment. I deeply apologize but it just wouldn't be a sound investment." He laughs, as though he's just heard the most hilarious joke. "There haven't even been rankings. I've been around a long while, I won't put money into someone who very well may be a bust."

I bite the inside of my lip, the pain soothing my anger just enough so that I don't reach over the desk and choke him with the rest of his desert. I nod and force a polite smile, even though my eyes clearly say 'fuck you'. "I understand, Mr. Dugan." I push up from my chair and turn to leave. "It was certainly a pleasure to meet you. You'll be seeing me soon."

As I leave I take to close his door just hard enough that it satisfies my need for lashing out but doesn't raise any extra eyebrows.

I practically stomp back to our living quarters, this entire day having been a wash. I didn't gain any new intelligence on the other tributes, having been swept away by Fulton for some 'official business'. Read: ass kissing. I'm Paige McCullers, if I'm going to kiss your ass it better smell like roses and be made of solid gold. Otherwise, it's a waste of my fucking time.

When I arrive to our quarters, this time I do slam the door. I don't really care if anyone here gets upset with me and judging by the sheer silence of the quarters, I'm alone anyway so it doesn't matter.

I check the time and realize that I only have about fifteen minutes until I can expect Emily back. She always right after training, without fail. I honestly don't care what takes that other one so long to get here as long as it doesn't get me killed.

My room is cleaner than I left it, no doubt thanks to the Avox who cleans our rooms. I sigh a breath of relief that I wasn't here this morning when she came by. At no fault of her own she sickens me. Just another reminder of the brutality of the Capital. Every day that I see her face is another reminder of the lengths those people will go to punish those who have wronged them, even slightly. Bile rises briefly into my throat as I deign to imagine the exact fate of my mother. I swallow it down quickly, grimacing at the burn.

A shower is exactly what the doctor ordered; I never opt for the fancy features that their showers offer. Simple soap and water have always been enough for me. I doubt anyone really _needs_ the option of smelling like a chocolate chip cookie. Then again, the Capital is not really about people needing anything.

I dry off quickly and throw on a pair of clothes from back home, it feels fantastic to feel like myself even if it's only a comfortable pair of pants and a shirt.

Like clockwork I hear the door slam. That's my cue. I straighten my clothes and affect a calm countenance. Darting smoothly into the hallway I intersect an obviously happy Emily whose smile only grows as she happens upon me.

"Paige, hello!"

I can't help but laugh, she's like a puppy. In fact, she's even bouncing a little. "What's got you so happy? Did they cancel the Games and nobody told me?"

She playfully hits me on the shoulder and rolls her eyes. "No, jerk. We're not that lucky. I made a friend today."

My eyes darken on their own but I force my face the freeze in a delighted smile. Friends are, well, tricky any other time. But during the Games, a friendship takes on a whole new meaning. On the one hand, I do see the benefits of entering into an alliance. Two is better than one in any equation. But there can only be one left standing at the end.

I continue smiling as she reaches over to smooth down the portion of my shirt that she ruffled when she hit me. "Sorry about that, I'm just a little hyper."

"I can see that."

She shakes her head fondly. "I'm going to take a shower. When I get out, we'll talk more."

"Sounds like a plan."

She leaves me and once she enters her room, I allow myself to lean against the wall. She's so vibrant, so alive. I wonder if she's like that back home in the District. I imagine she is. It's an injustice that someone that bright, that effervescent should ever lose that fire.

I'm afraid that's exactly what will happen in the arena. I've seen it in the years of mandatory viewing and I saw it with my own two eyes. Shock grips after the first kill, grief after the second. After that, numbness. Your actions are no longer your own, your body becomes a different entity than your mind. Detached. That's the word.

The only thing worse than seeing Emily die would be her returning like I did, broken and empty. I never had her fire; I never smiled like she does. She's the only person in this world, the only person since my mother who could ever get me to smile. To laugh.

The necklace at my throats feels heavier than every before. This is the last remaining remnant of my mother, the only other thing left hidden with her diaries. I wear it now as a symbol of defiance, as a symbol of love. Of the last time I really felt that I was loved, that I was even worthy of being loved.

It's a beautiful necklace, silver chain with a pendant of a jeweled District Four crest hanging from the chain. It's the last material thing in the world that means anything to me. Holding it between my fingers, it seems so insignificant. How can one item encompass so much of who I am?

"That's beautiful." I jump; startled by the fact that Emily was able to sneak up on me so easily.

I drop the pendant back under my shirt; only parts of the chain are still visible around my neck. "It's personal." I snap back at her, immediately feeling contrite.

She doesn't seem bothered. "That's alright, it's beautiful anyway. Suits you."

I duck my head in embarrassment and clear my throat. "Right, so. You were telling me about a friend?"

Emily senses I've moved on from the necklace and it's time to get down to business. "His name's Toby, he's from District Seven."

I've come across rumors of him, some people are even saying he's the wildcard from the 'other districts', the one's that nobody really thinks will ever win. As far as alliances go, this wouldn't be the worst. Still, she must understand the stakes.

"Do you plan on allying with him in the arena?"

She plops down onto the couch and I follow her, our thighs brushing in the most distracting of ways. I need to pull it together, this is important.

"I don't know? Maybe? Right now I'm just happy to finally have someone to talk to."

That stings, I may not be the best mentor or the most available person but she should know that I'd always be there for her. I'm not an open book but she should know I have her back.

Feelings aside, I can't let my emotions distract me. "I've heard he's strong. Handy. It wouldn't be the worst strategy in the world. But Emily? Look at me." She stares right into my eyes. "You have to be strong enough to sever the alliance when necessary. Can you kill him? Caring is death inside the arena, Em."

She looks briefly startled at my bluntness, the determined. "I can handle myself, Paige. I'm not naïve, okay? Quit acting like you're the only person who knows anything. I know the risks. I know the stakes. I didn't sign up for this but quit underestimating me."

Properly contrite, I dare to reach out and put a reassuring arm around her shoulder. To my surprise she seems to sink down into my embrace. "I'm sorry, Em. It's just; we only have one week left. It's my job to give you the tools to succeed and I wasted so much time wallowing when I could have been helping you. Doing everything in my power to protect you. I—."

She puts a finger over my lips and that effectively shuts down anything else I had to say. For that matter it also seems to shut down my higher brain functions.

"Maybe we only have one week. Six days tomorrow, five after that and so on. That's only time. It only matters if we let it. So stop freaking out, Paige. Be calm."

It's a ridiculous bit of role reversal. I'm supposed to be the strong one, the wise one, the one who doles out the advice. Our current position is a misleading one, she may be cuddled into me but make no mistake, she has the upper hand.

I lay my head on top of hers and stare off into the distance. If this is all the time we have left, I wouldn't ask to be anywhere else.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope that everyone is still enjoying themselves as we inch along her towards the Games. Quick production note and fair forewarning, this will probably be the last chapter until at least next Saturday. My big sister is getting married next week and I'm a bridesmaid. Apparently every single person I've ever met is coming into town and there's an event for each day. So, I did not die. I have not disappeared. Fear not. Enjoy!


	6. Broken Clock

Chapter Six: Broken Clock

I'm not a jealous person; I'm not a jealous person. Yeah right, maybe if I repeat that mantra enough times it'll come true. I'm definitely a jealous person. It sure was a stroke of luck my parents could only ever muster up the one child, I would have made an awful sibling. And not like I have much experience but I have the feeling I'd make an awful friend as well.

I'd already taken it upon myself to sneak some surveillance of the tributes training and before I could truly say that it was just about the monitoring. Trying to get intelligence that Emily couldn't possibly pick up while she was working.

Yeah, working, that's what we'll call it. Every time that Toby 'friend' of hers makes her laugh, makes her smile in a way I'm sure I never could. I contemplate the hundreds of ways in which I could make that lumberjack disappear. And then, almost immediately after the completion of that list, there's always a sense of immediate disgust that washes over me. In many ways I am aware of my shortcomings as a human being, but imagining the ways in which to kill a human just because of jealously. Jealously over a person I have no right to. After everything I've seen and done in this world, it rightfully fills me with disgust.

And yet, I cannot turn away. It must be the masochist that barely stays buried underneath my skin but I watch the two of them banter and train and smile and look happy and I take it in. Maybe it's the religion my father beat into me as a child, my father being a strictly devout man and a high believer in repentance for our sins. Maybe, even though I was conscripted to do it, the Games consisted of my sins and Emily is the tempting fruit dangled in front of my face and her ambivalence towards me, my repentance.

Perhaps this is the way things were supposed to go. I cheated the natural order of things; it doesn't matter if these are the machinations of the Capital. It doesn't matter who cranks the wheel, I cheated the hourglass of fate and she is my punishment.

I look at that smile, a wider smile than has ever been directed at me and swallow dryly. A more sane person would walk away, wouldn't punish herself like I do. Then again, no one has ever accused me of being sane.

My watch vibrates on my wrist, the courtesy alarm I've set for myself sounding silently against my wrist. Set fifteen minutes ahead of the training completion to give me just enough time to make it appear as though I've been waiting patiently for Emily this entire time.

Pushing up from my hiding place, I have just enough time to dive back into it before the exact last person who can catch me hanging around here catches me. I use every single survival instinct I have to stay perfectly still as Byron Montgomery, Head Gamemaker, saunters through the hall. If he were anyone other than the person who ultimately controlled Emily's fate, he'd be the most ridiculous sort of man.

First of all, he was short but wore these ornate shoes with a ridiculous heel. Can you say insecure? No, well, Byron Montgomery can't either. He's dressed in what he must think are the newest fashions but instead come off as desperately seeking youth, so maybe that is right in style for the Capital?

All kidding aside, he cannot catch me. Technically, from what I've heard, scouting isn't an uncommon practice among mentors; however, it is highly frowned upon to actually be caught doing it. Especially by the Head Gamemaker.

What the fuck is he doing? I hitch my breath, trying to harness my basic human instincts and stay entirely imperceptible. He was walking at a fairly clipped pace until he suddenly stopped. Now he seems to almost be sniffing the air like the hound dogs that sometimes wander around the District.

Fuck, does he know I'm here? Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is not good. Think, Paige. Is there any other reason that I could be creeping here in this corner that just so happens to covertly overlook the tributes training?

Sweat crawls down my neck and drips down my back; luckily my shirt soaks it up in its entirety. I don't even want to discover if this guy has Capital-enhanced hearing or some other crazy mutations. This is definitely not the time to figure that out.

After what has to be minutes of Byron Montgomery just standing there, he finally seems to be satisfied and continues down the hall, resuming his previous pace. I wait a few more minutes before I feel that it's safe and that he's not just going to double back and trick me.

Unfortunately, this debacle sets me with just two minutes to get back to the District Four quarters. Even with my speed and conditioning there is no way that I can make it from here to our floor in any less than ten minutes. This means that surely Emily is going to beat me back, by a long shot if they got out a little early. And that means she'll have the upper hand.

It's better to make it back and not look like I've been doing laps around the compound, which would only raise more questions than I'd want to answer.

I make it back about fifteen minutes after I originally wanted to and Emily is already fully showered and waiting for me on the couch. Regardless of any curiosity she might have over my absence, it still sends a tingle through my entire body at the sight of her seemingly waiting for me. At least, I'd like to think that she's waiting for me.

Against my better judgment, I can picture this in a normal world, whatever normal is. If neither of us ever had to deal with the Capital. I'd go out, working a boat more than likely and she'd stay home. We'd switch off; always one waiting for the other but always with each other when the dust was cleared and the day was over.

It's a stupid fantasy. Without these Games, we'd never have had a reason to even speak to each other. District Four isn't one of the poorer districts where it seems like everyone goes to the same school and everyone knows each other's names. Maybe I'd have seen her one day, across the aisle at one of the many fish markets, maybe at a pier or a marina. I'd admire her from afar, surely I would, she's a great beauty even from an objective point-of-view. Not that I'd kid myself for a second saying that I have one of those.

But that would be that. It's sad but true but truer than most other things I know in this life. Back there, I would have never been good enough for her. Not in a million years. Knowing what I know about her upbringing and what I know about mine, if I hadn't been placed in a position of prestige I would be dirt on her shoe.

She might not think so, Emily is such a kind-hearted person and possibly she'd cross those lines but society would never accept me in her world. Paige McCullers, child of a traitor and daughter of disgrace Nick McCullers. One day, maybe, our district will realize that they are nothing but pawns to the Capital. One day, but without the Games, like it or not, that was my lot in life.

The Games made me something to my district and more importantly made me something to Emily Fields. Even my fantasies don't have happy endings.

Emily seems to notice me standing awkwardly by the door and smiles. "Paige, hi!" She waves me over to join her on the couch.

My feet pull me over without even consulting my brain first; maybe they are just magnetically power by her wish and command. I plop lifelessly next to her on the couch, just now noticing how exhausted I am.

Her smile grows wider at my hopelessness. "Where we you? Usually you're here when I get back."

Lying is the imperative, and it's not like she's in the position to fact check my every word. "Mentor stuff." I force a chuckle. "You know, someone has to do the dirty behind-the-scenes work."

She nods in acquiescence and I hate myself a little bit more for being able to lie to her so easily. But it's safer if she doesn't know the truth. The less she knows, the less she'll be punished if I screw up and get caught with both feet out of line.

"Yes, where would I be without you McCullers?" She's certainly in a cheeky mood; I deprecatingly attribute that to Toby-time.

I just smile tightly, well naturedly enough that hopefully she doesn't feel the need to investigate my mood.

Before I can think of anything to say, she's speaking again. "Is it okay if I don't want to talk about training today? All we do is talk about the Games and training and strategy and technique."

I open my mouth to protest but she cuts me off, like she always does.

"Paige, if these are really some of my final days, I'd like to spend a few of them not talking about my impending fate. Is that okay?"

I hate when she brings up the negative outcome she could very well be facing, it's my weak spot. Of course I'm aware that the odds are not in her favor but to be reminded, from her lips, that's a weak spot. I'm a slave to her command.

I nod. "Yeah, I think you can have a little break." Wringing my hands, I duck my head shyly. "I'd need a breather from me and the Games too. I get it."

She reaches out and actually has the audacity to clap me lightly on the back of my head. I shoot my head up, so quickly I feel like my neck is going to snap and glare into her forehead. She's still smiling which is infuriating me further.

"What the fuck, Emily!"

She only giggles at my anger and I can't help but feel dopey in the face of her amusement. I shrink down further into the couch in embarrassment.

"The fuck is, Paige, that you need to stop being such a moron."

I roll my eyes. "Oh thanks, Em."

She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, obviously mocking me. "You're welcome, Paige. I just said I didn't want to talk about training, not that I want to throw you out of the window. Quit assuming the worst of everyone, geez. You know, you remind me of someone back home."

I perk up at that. "Really?"

She smirks at me. "Well, not really. You two are completely different in every way that matters, but you share a certain irritating cynicism."

"Oh really, well, maybe this person is just smart."

Emily smiles knowingly at that and then momentarily seems to retreat into her own head. Then she laughs softly. "She certainly is that."

My ears perk up at that pronoun. "She?"

Emily exhales a little to dreamily for my taste. "Yes, she."

Now I'm feeling a knot building up in my stomach, I know that look. I have that look. I've seen it every morning since I met Emily, every morning in the mirror where I get it all out. The mooning eyes, the look of love. Extinguishing that look before it can utilized as an atomic weapon against me. Who knew that all it would take to make a deep enough wound would be that look, on Emily's face, meant for someone else?

Steeling my face in practiced indifference, I push onwards. "Who is she?"

Emily's entire mood seems to change at further interrogation, the air of dreaminess remains but its clouded over by a somberness that I'm unaccustomed to seeing from her.

"Her name is Maya. She is, well, I guess was my girlfriend."

I imagine this is what those people I killed must have felt like but combined. I feel like I'm relieving every cut, every drowning, every suffocating moment I've inflicted on others. I'm dying a hundred deaths in a matter of micro moments.

If Emily can tell that I'm dying on the inside, she doesn't show it. Before I can even process what my next move should be, I'm once again saddled with an armful of sobbing Emily. The Maya confession seemingly the hole that broke the dam.

Every fiber in my body is telling me to run, to push her off of me and run. To get away before the walls in the room come crashing down around me, crushing me to my deserving death.

But I can't, I made a silent promise to myself and an overt promise to Emily that I'd be there for her no matter what, I'd help her to live. Foolishly I thought that I'd be helping to live and then we'd fall into place. Some hopeless part of my heart thinking that somehow this could be. But fate was never kind to a McCullers.

If this is my penance, my repentance for the sins of my birth, the sins of my actions, then it is a penance I must accept. Perhaps this was always my fate. Perhaps it was always my destiny to feel love for the first time, an all-consuming love only to nurture and carry through the object of my affection for another to love.

Against the heavy feeling of grief, I force my heavy arms to wrap themselves around Emily. If this is who she needs me to be, then this is who I will be. I will be broken but I will be hers. Even when she is another's, I will be hers. And this is my fate.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Wow, that turned out to be a way longer break than I'd intended but alas last week doesn't even seem like it happened and this week was spent trying to catch up in Grad School, not an easy feat. This is actually my favorite chapter that I've written thus far, I've been waiting to get to this part for a while. Again, sorry about the long break, I hope y'all are still hanging in there with me. Til next time, enjoy!


	7. Closer

Chapter Seven: Closer

Eye contact is one of those completely overrated things. We all hear it, "Look me in the eyes when you're talking to me." It was one of my father's favorite things to bark, as if it wasn't degrading enough to be utterly abhorred by my own father, I had to see the burning hate in his eyes every time I deigned to address him. As a child, unless I was talking to my father I was the consummate mumbler. That kid who always seemed to have something fascinating on their shoes, never looking up. Safe to say, I had my fair share of bruises as a child from running into walls, posts and unsuspecting bystanders.

Emily has no such reservations, it's almost as if she doesn't understand personal space or boundaries. From the very beginning she's ignored the very idea that I may have any walls surrounding me at all. Nobody ever dared to touch me the way she does, and it seems so easy for her to do so. A hand on my shoulder, a hug in exuberance or in devastation, a simple kiss on the cheek.

It's like she doesn't even understand that every extension of humanity might as well be an arrow, pushing painstakingly slow through my chest. Only now it feels like that arrow is just close enough to pierce and drive itself through my heart. A heart, which, despite all outward appearances, rips, and tears and bleeds just like everyone else.

Since she opened her heart to me on that couch, since the name Maya entered into my personal lexicon, I've been torn. This, this exact reason is why I wanted to stay far away. A callous thought enters my brain; I almost wish I'd never gotten close at all. Never let those brown eyes, the girl who smells like home into my head. Maybe it'd been quick, her giving up hope. Maybe she'd be better off without me. As much as I try to convince myself of this line of thought, as much as I wish I could be so cold. I can't. I can't imagine a life in which I didn't even have straws to grasp at.

I can handle being second choice; I can handle not even being an option to her. But from the moment she snuck into my heart, it's been solidified that I can no longer accept anything less than her happiness. Even in the most likely scenario that her happiness has nothing to do with mine.

Two days. Two long, agonizing days. That's all I have left with her. It's amazing to think that I've wasted the majority of my time with her moping around, a sheer waste of space. If I've taught her anything, affected her chances in even the slightest of ways it would be an absolute coup.

A loud crash enters my thoughts and I look up to see Emily standing warily over a fallen set of silverware on the floor.

"Sorry! Sorry! I'll clean it up." She seems to be shaking as she hurries to pick up the utensils off the floor.

I get up off the couch and go to help her, it's clear that she's feeling some sort of trepidation about the day's events. It's ranking day and in one hour she'll report downstairs to show the culmination of all of her effort to the ranking committee. Byron Montgomery and his cronies, the ultimate decision makers in the battle of life or death. Well, at least the first leg of the battle.

I put my hand on hers and sure enough she's trembling. "Here, let me help."

Together we clean up the mess and I can see that having a little extra help has calmed her nerves, not significantly but enough that it doesn't sound like a cacophony of high pitched noises as she tidies up a couple of forks and spoons.

The mess finally straightened, I motion for her to sit down at the table. I take a sit next to her and pour us both a glass of ice water.

I smile as reassuringly as I can while she takes slow, deliberate sips. "A little nervous, I take it?" She nods and takes another sip. "Em, you'll be great out there. I can feel it."

She laughs self-deprecatingly. "Can your submit your feelings for rankings?"

Oh, if only. Emily would get a twelve without a second thought from me. That's not helpful, I don't need to overwhelm her with my stupid feelings. I need to reassure her, beyond a reasonable doubt, that this will be successful. She needs to be calm and focus, she needs to impress these people. It may just be odds but these odds determine sponsors, which are tributes lifeblood.

Her hand drops from her glass onto the table. I stare at it for a long moment before I take a leap of faith and place mine on top of hers. It's cold, from the glass but I squeeze it in what I hope is a heartening manner.

"Listen to me. You are Emily Fields, and from what I know about you that means you're not a quitter. You're not a wimp and you won't let a stupid committee reduce you to a shuddering mess." She dips her head in contrition. In a burst of confidence, my thumb starts making soothing circles on the top of her palms and I steel my eyes. "No, look at me." She does and I can start to see that fire that I love so much fighting to reach the surface. "Show them you're scared, go in like a wet piece of kelp and they won't even pay you any mind. Go in with authority and make them look at you. Make them notice. You have it in you, Em. I believe in you."

For the first time today I see a smile crack her face, a true smile. Not one that says, "Yeah okay, you idiot, whatever you say" but a true confident smile. The one that I love to see, even more when I'm the one who put it there.

She finishes off her water before she stands, entwining our fingers so I have to stand with her. "When I first met you, I have to say I was intimidated. First victor from Four, hard ass who told me I was better off dead. And that glare. Oh, that glare. You talk a big game, but don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

Emily pulls me in for a bone-crushing hug, made only simpler by the fact that her words have frozen me in place. My heart stopped for a split second when she said she knew my secret, of course my brain quickly caught up and stopped me from making a complete fool of myself. Still, surrounded by her warmth and it's no wonder she completely melted me. I'd have to be one of the Capital's mutts to not feel something for her. I take a second to savor the moment before pulling back begrudgingly, my visage displayed bravado long since surrendered.

"C'mon, Fields, you're going to ruin my reputation if you keep hugging me. People are going to start thinking I'm a human being or something crazy like that."

She shakes her head amused at me and gathers her stuff. Just before she leaves the room, she turns back, her face more serious than I've ever seen.

"You're more than you think you are, Paige."

I don't have time to react before she closes the door, for the second time in a short period she has left me frozen in my place.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I know, I know, I know. It was a longer time than I'd realized and this is a fairly short chapter but I sort of love it. It's very much a bridge, we're nearing the end of our sweet 'cushy' time in the Capital with our two ladies and entering into some uncertain times. Also, whenever I reach 50 reviews I am going to be accepting one-shot prompts and I will write my favorite that I received. You can just PM those to me, if you'd like to do so. Otherwise, I hope everyone is still on board this crazy train. Peace out!


	8. Ten

Chapter Eight: Ten

Huddled around the television, I can hardly find the time to breathe let alone consider the implications of this night. In a few short moments, the results of today's evaluation will be broadcast to the entire Capital. This is when miserly investors and potential sponsors get their first inclination towards which tributes will be worth investing their precious money. As if they didn't have enough of it to share.

I can tell that Emily is shifting nervously next to me and for the first time since he stormed out of our meeting I'm actually aware of Ben's presence on our floor. A few hours ago, Emily had returned from her evaluation only to immediately storm into her room and lock the door. She even skipped dinner which was highly unusual for her. This had me even more concerned that something had gone wrong.

She'd been in a good headspace by the time she left this morning; I can't help but wonder what happened between then and when she returned. I can only hope that her dismay is something that lives only in her head. I can't fathom the alternative.

On the fringes of my consciousness I hear the Capital theme start up and the nauseatingly perfect visage of Brutus Flickerman fills the screen. It's time.

Anything above a seven I can work with, that's feasible. Below that and I would have to face the very real fact that there may be nothing I can do for Emily. But a seven or above, that would work.

As the scores are announced I remember the faces of some of those I scouted and some tributes that Emily informed me about. That Alison girl from District One scores a resounding ten, the tributes from Two both score nines and the shifty looking girl from Three, Mona, scores an impressive eleven.

This only serves to make me even more apprehensive, this isn't a weak group of tributes and, in fact, is shaping up already to be one of the strongest fields seen in the history of the competition. I dare to glance at Emily, who is unconsciously wringing her hands in anticipation.

The boy from Three's score is a mere six which reads shockingly low, especially compared to the might of the first couple rankings. Finally, it is time to unveil the scores for District Four.

It's almost as if the universe is attempting to torture me and Emily because it's Ben's face that I see pop up onto the screen first. After a brief discussion by Flickerman, I see his score pop up. An eight. Okay, that's the control. Anything less than an eight for Emily and I'll always have it confirmed, in pure numbers that she would have definitely been better off without my intrusion into her life.

Emily's picture flashes up on the screen and I take a brief moment to admire the stoic beauty portrayed in the still. The photographer somehow managed to capture something permanently that I'd only previously see flashes of. Her strength truly reflected in the slight lift of her head and the steel in her eyes. I can only hope that her ranking reflects the veracity in her eyes and the power I know she possesses.

For every other tribute named thus far it seemed as though time flashed by, somehow it seems as though they've discovered Emily's long form biography and are doing a dramatic reading of it for the delight of the Capital faithful. Maybe it's only the perception of the stoppage of time in my own head but I feel as though someone encased this moment in a thick sheet of ice and refuses to let anything progress forward as it rightfully should.

My lapse in attention is broken when I hear Emily stop breathing next to me, it's so sudden that for a moment I'm worried she's actually gone and died before she could even step foot inside of the arena. As quick as she stopped breathing in all comes rushing out in one giant exhaust of air. The next thing I know her arms are wrapped around my body in a death crush. I fleetingly have the thought that if I die, if this is the way I go, I would not have preferred any other way to leave this world.

All of the commotion makes me stop and glance at the screen, realizing this must be the source of her sudden need to choke the life out of herself and possibly even me. Did I fail her? Did she score so poorly that she sees no other option but to take my life? I look at the number displayed on the screen and have to blink multiple times to really consider what I'm seeing. I have to make sure that my traitorous eyes aren't playing tricks on me. They would do that, they would.

I now understand the range of emotions that Emily has gone through in the last few moments because I'm going through them myself. Shock, disbelief, awe, acceptance and because it is such a momentous occasion, I have to go through another whole round of acceptance just to believe what I'm actually seeing.

Ten. That's the number that is displayed right next to her face. A ten! Tears begin to well in my eyes and I slam my eyelids closed, squeezing them shut to fight against any outward display of emotion. I realize that my arms have been hanging limply next to my body as Emily continues to take every last breath away from me. I rectify the situation immediately, squeezing her back as hard as she is squeezing me.

It takes every ounce of self-control that I possess in order to stop from picking her up out of her seat and taking her for a spin around the room like we're overactive school children. Not even the slamming of Ben's door as I realize he's stalked out of the room can break us from our revelries.

It takes a few minutes of us desperately holding on to each other before I remember myself and pull back. Composing myself under the mask that I generally wear so well, the mask that Emily has been carefully and unconsciously chipping away since the moment I met her.

Now a wave of curiosity overcomes me. Emily was so upset when she got back from her evaluation, or maybe I only presumed that she was upset. I never asked and we haven't spoken, not even at this very moment have we spoken since she returned. Sat next to each other in silence, embraced in pure elation but speak to each other? No, that would be too logical.

My curiosity can be contained no longer. "What did you do to impress them so much? When you got back I thought you'd blown it the way you stormed off to your room."

She looks at me strangely for a moment. "You thought I blew it?"

I shake my head, frustrated that I've taken this moment and am now well on my way to ruining it with my mouth. I hate how nothing I try to say ever comes out the way it's intended. "Just because of the way you came back, stormed into your room, never to be heard from until, well, right now."

"And because of that you thought I must have screwed up?" She looks at me incredulously, for a moment I wonder if I might have grown two heads.

Instead, I shrug my shoulders and nod. "Well, yeah. What else was I supposed to think?"

She colors, turning a tad red under my scrutiny. She looks down sheepishly, suddenly finding something fascinating on the floor. She clears her throat before speaking, well, mumbling more like it. "I was overwhelmed."

I don't really know what she said as she just muttered it straight into the tile. "You what?"

She scuffs her shoe on the tile and looks up for a fleeting moment; I can see the embarrassment in her eyes. "I was…overwhelmed, Paige."

Her face colors an even deeper red and I'm confused. I look at her, really just look at her. Take in her diminutive stance and the fact that I didn't even know she could get that red. Suddenly, it's like I'm hit with a ton of bricks, straight to the head.

And suddenly, it's the first time I think our complexions have ever matched. "Oh…OH! Um, okay. I get it."

She looks like she's about to speak. Maybe to rebut my statement, maybe to defend herself. I don't know and I honestly don't care. I cannot stand here and even think about what she just admitted to for one more moment. Not if I want to remain sane.

I put my own out to stop her. "No, no. It's uh, sorry for assuming."

A look of pure adoration crosses her face and before I know it, she's hugging me again. "Thank you."

She pulls back and looks straight into my eyes, I can tell something else is bothering her so I motion for her to get on with it.

"I stormed in and slammed the door, not just because of, you know, but because I was ashamed."

That stops me in my wave of embarrassment for myself, for even considering what she did. Why would a beautiful woman like Emily be ashamed in such a natural expression of her own sexuality?

"What do you have to be ashamed about?"

She sighs, like this is something that I should have already picked up on, like I am doing her a huge disservice by not being able to read her mind.

"I enjoyed it, Paige. Don't you get it?"

I shake my head negative because no, I don't get why enjoying masturbation would be a bad thing. I have enough practice to know that is sort of the whole point.

"Emily, I think you're supposed to enjoy it."

Again she looks at me like I'm an idiot, and also like she is gravely disappointed in me.

"Not that, you moron." She looks back into my eyes and such grave shame is reflected in those dark brown eyes, it's confusing to see from someone who was celebrating only moments before. "I enjoyed the violence, throwing those knives. Cutting, slashing, fighting and demonstrating my status as a weapon. For their pleasure. Part of that turned me on. That's sick, I'm sick."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I really am an idiot. I should have understood sooner, I shouldn't have been consumed with my own lusty, perverted thoughts. I should have been reading between the lines, I should have known. I really am a moron.

The middle of the main area is not the place for this sensitive of a conversation. Without a second thought I gently take Emily's hand in mine and bring her to my personal quarters. We enter and I shut the door softly behind us. I don't consider the implications as I pull her to my bed where I sit down, pointing to the spot next to me for her.

When she's settled, I speak again. "You're not sick."

She looks at me like it's the biggest betrayal I've committed, by not giving into her deprecation I've taken away the one thing she thought she now knew about herself.

"You're not." She still looks reluctant but I power through. "Feeling that way isn't a sickness. Your body is protecting you. Your mind is protecting you. Don't you get it?"

She shakes her head and slouches, seemingly trying to fold into herself.

"I know what you're feeling; I know how you're feeling." I take a breath to control my breathing, what I have to say isn't easy. "The first kill, it's horrifying. You look at your own hands as if they were sown on by some mad scientist because they couldn't possibly be yours. It couldn't possibly be your hands capable of such atrocity. No matter how good it felt in practice, not matter how overwhelmed you get. The first time it's real blood, the first time it's warm and sticky and you're covered in it and not yours. That's when the real feelings of sickness come in."

I stop, and look down at my hands and realize I'm shaking. Emily realizes it too and despite her disgust, both at my words and residually at herself she takes my hand, attempting to steady my tremors.

"Paige, I—."

I stop her; I need to finish this before I lose my strength. "Savor the feeling you had today. That excitement, that's your body trying to get you ready for what you need to do. Savor that, hold on to it. Take it in to the arena. Because when it's real, when it isn't a leather dummy or a wall but a thirteen-year-old from District Twelve. That's when your real humanity sets in, that's when you'll feel sick. You'll be all alone inside that arena and all you'll want to do is vomit and heave until your insides are your outsides. But there won't be anything to heave because you'll be empty. Your body empty and your soul empty. So savor today. Today was a blessing. Come two days from now, you will wish you remembered the good old days where your own actions didn't make you want to rip your own heart out every time it beat. You—."

I stop because I realize that I can no longer breathe. It's not until Emily reaches up and swipes a thumb across my cheek that I understand that at some point I started sobbing. I guess that explains my labored breathing.

She wraps her arms around me and just holds me as I shake and sob and generally make a mess of myself. If I had half a lucid mind I would be incredibly embarrassed but I can't even muster the energy. This is my weakness, the weakness I swore I'd never show. And it's bared clean for her to see.

This was supposed to be a cause for celebration. A ten. I can work with a ten. A ten is the difference between a canister of medicine and dying from infection. Instead, we're laying I realize now, on my bed. Emily wrapped around me, my breathing finally slowing to a manageable rate. In all of my dreams, and even if I deny their existence in my waking hours, I have dreams. In all of them, this is not how we end up in bed together. And it's certainly not as innocent as her comforting me.

I realize now, in this one of the few private moments we have left, that this place, right here in her arms, is the place that I've been searching for my entire life. Suddenly, I shoot up and shrug her off of me.

I turn towards her and ignore the look of hurt that flashes across her face.

"Paige, what the hell?"

I shake my head, needing her to wait just a few seconds. I reach around behind my neck and unhook the clasp of the necklace, my mother's. The look of confusion in her eyes is only intensified as she attempts to understand my actions.

I stroke the necklace and smile sadly before looking back up at Emily. "I want you to take this. Every tribute gets a token they can take into the arena, provided that it can't be used as a weapon in any way. I want you to take this, to give you strength."

She looks up at me with the strangest mix of apprehension, adulation and exhaustion. "You always wear that, I've never seen you take it off. It has to be important to you. No, I couldn't possibly."

I roll my eyes and motion for her to turn around, expose her neck to me so I can put the necklace on her. "You could, please, it would mean a lot to me."

The apprehension intensifies but nonetheless she turns, drawing her hair forward slowly. Freeing up the back of her neck so I can put the necklace on her.

My hands start shaking as I reach around her body. My thumbs come in contact with her smooth, warm skin and it's like a bolt of lightning shoots straight through my thumb and into the rest of my body. I'm shaking so hard that I'm fumbling with the delicate clasp; this leads to more accidental exploration of her skin. I almost pray that my hands never right themselves so that I can stay here, here in the moment for as long as possible. Forever, perhaps.

In reality it must only be a few seconds and finally I clasp the necklace. My hands swipe slowly once more over her with the intent of smoothing out the chain and it is in this moment that I decide I must be a masochist. I would have to be a masochist. I pull away before I can do any more permanent damage to my already broken psyche.

I put on a huge smile as she turns around, gently examining the necklace in her hands. "So, what do you think?"

Her face softens and I swear there are tears in her eyes. "It's beautiful, Paige."

My head ducks in embarrassment. "It was my mothers."

Her eyes snap to mine and I could swear for a moment it's like she could see into my soul, into my very intentions but it was only for a moment and that moment quickly passes. She motions to try and take the necklace off but I shoot out my hand to stop her. "I can't possibly take this."

I smile wryly, moving her hands away from the clasp and holding them in mine. "She would have liked you, believe me, she'd approve."

Her eyes shine and I can tell she believes me because she doesn't try to argue anymore. And also to my surprise, she doesn't try to leave either.

"Would it…do you think it would be okay if I stayed here tonight? I don't want to be alone."

Against every better judgment that says I should refuse, politely insist that she return to her own room I find myself nodding.

And just like that I find myself, moments later with the lights out and under the covers. Frozen as Emily settles in next to me.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I know I keep saying it but I keep loving writing this story more and more with each chapter. This one was especially intense to write but it's only going to get worse, we're about two chapters away from the arena. It's coming, y'all. Buckle in, it's going to get bumpier from here.


	9. Before I Wake

Chapter Nine: Before I Wake

When I wake up the next morning I'm startled by the warmth surrounding my body, I freeze momentarily until I realize that I'd allowed Emily to stay with me last night. That only comforts me for a moment before I am overcome with the knowledge that I allowed _Emily_ to stay with me.

I curse my body for betraying me for feeling such a profound level of comfort. This shouldn't be right, this shouldn't be the most comfortable I've been since I can remember. I shouldn't feel…loved. Without realizing it she's wormed her way underneath my skin. Literally, wrapped herself around my entire being and refuses to let go.

Seriously, she refuses to let go. I try lightly pulling away from her but she does nothing but tighten her grip. Pretending I'm her lifeline gives me momentary pleasure before I remember that I couldn't possibly be. Her mentor, yes. Friendship, dare I say. But a lifeline, definitely not.

Lifelines mean something, they're important in the scope of things. If she lives, we'll only be bound together by the force of obligation and the burden of horrors only we would know the full breadth. Maybe a lifeline, de facto but not by choice. Not because she needed me.

Unlike me, Emily has somebody to return home to, somebody to fight for whether she's willing to admit that's what she's doing or not. I didn't have anyone, I killed because it was either that or be killed. I didn't much appreciate the latter option. I lived because I didn't want to die, not because I had anything in particular to live for.

Not Emily. She has a family, love, a place in our District waiting for her. Not for the first time I find myself wishing against any reason that I could go in her place. People with tethers to the world like Emily didn't deserve a fate like this. A cruel zero-sum game cooked up by vindictive, power hungry sociopaths desperately seeking to punish this generation and every generation after that for the sins of our fathers.

Behind me I hear the nascent stirrings of Emily and her breathing begins to normalize and sleep is wrenched away from her. I purposefully slow down my own breathing, suddenly self-conscious of how creepy it seems that I've just been laying here awake allowing her to hold me.

I hear Emily yawn and squeeze my eyes shut even tighter.

Another yawn. "Paige?"

I wait, it would look suspicious to stir too quickly. I'm generally a light sleeper but she doesn't know that.

"Paige?" She slides the arm that was around me up and over my body, a tad too slowly for my comfort, and runs her hand up my arm before grasping my shoulder and shaking me. "I know you're awake."

My eyes snap open and I turn on my other side to see her smirking at me. "Excuse me?"

She looks at me with nothing but unrestrained mirth sparkling in her eyes. "It's a good thing you're a mentor because you'd be a horrible actress."

I roll my eyes and lightly shove her shoulder away. "Shut it, I'm your elder remember."

That only makes her laugh at me more. "My elder? Did I miss something? Are you 40 now?"

Groaning I roll out of bed, ignoring her further calls and taunts. When she can't see my face I allow a small smile to stretch across my face. For the first time I can picture the entire image of a life we'll never live. Only in this very moment it doesn't twist my heart with pain, there is no invisible hand squeezing the air out of my lungs. Only a dull sense of contentment, the sheer will to live in the moment and only this moment for as long as it should exist.

The moment is short lived and before I'm truly ready she's also out of bed and headed towards the door.

"You're leaving?" There is just a small trace of longing in my voice that I pray she doesn't pick up on.

She nods calmly. "It's almost six, Fulton wakes up in a few minutes and I think she'd flip if she saw me coming out of your room."

I flush at her insinuation, both at her audacity to make such an insinuation and also at the veracity of her statement. Fulton would flip out, she would absolutely blow her fucking pea colored brain out. I'm not even ashamed to say that there is a small part of me who is absolutely ecstatic at that prospect. The rational side of me begins to have a panic attack. Only a minor one but still, for the first time, I actually think about how this would look to an outsider. Special treatment, that's what it would look like. I've practically forgotten Ben's existence; sure it was at his own behest, but still.

Distractedly I wave Emily away. "Sure, yeah, go. You're right."

She frowns and walks back over towards me, reaching out and taking hold of my left hand, which I didn't realize had been digging into my thigh until she pulled it away.

"Stop that, I didn't mean to make you feel weird." I try to interject but she speaks over my attempts. "Last night was the most normal I've felt since I've been here."

That flush returns with a force and suddenly I feel too awkward to even stay in my own room. "Uh, you're welcome?"

She gives me back my hand and idly plays with my mother's necklace around her neck. Emotion wells up inside of me like I've never cared to know, to see her holding on to something so important to me. To see her embrace that fills my heart past where I thought it could go. To the point of bursting out of my chest. I'm so caught up in the moment that I don't notice her trying to get my attention again.

"Listen to me, okay?" I nod and she continues. "If I die—."

"Hold on a minute—." She rudely shushes me, as if it's ridiculous that beginning a sentence in that manner would be a little bit traumatic.

"Let me finish." She stares me down until I mime a 'my lips are sealed' motion and that seems to satisfy her. "If I die and stop shaking your head Paige, it's a possibility. Those are the kind of moments I want to hold on to. So thank you for getting over telling me I was going to and should die and stepping up. I appreciate it. I appreciate you."

Nodding dumbly at this amazing woman seems to be my default setting and once again she leaves me alone looking like a moron.

I sober once she closes door and begin to prepare myself for the events of the day. This is the last day of preparatory events. The tribute interviews and then it's all over but the dying. Then my real work starts. I take a breath, yeah, here comes the hard part. Like everything before this was easy.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I cannot express how apologetic I am for the long wait and then such a short chapter after all of that. I promise that I didn't abandon this story or lose inspiration. This term has just eaten me alive and after finals and term papers for the past three weeks my brain was sort of fried. But, I'm back on the wagon and promise it won't be another three weeks before the next chapter. Enjoy!


	10. All Talk

Chapter Ten: All Talk

Out of all of the pomp and circumstance I do remember this portion being my least favorite event. The dreaded interview. The last possible moment to win over the crowd before they send you into the arena. The public relations portion of being a tribute. I am not now nor have I ever been accused of being a people person, so as one could imagine, it was nearly a train wreck. Actually, a train wreck would have been less messy.

I nearly begged my fucking prep team to let me wear pants, hell, if I'd been less proud I think I would have shed a tear or two for the cause. The navy blue dress they ended up shoving me into was meant to give the illusion that I was somehow alluring and personable, coupled with the pounds of makeup meant to make people want me, to want to be me. To this day I question that particular angle; I'm far more comfortable being feared than being desired. Their feeble attempts didn't work anyway; tributes without mentors have to rely on the goodwill of the citizens to receive gifts within the arena and let's just say there isn't a whole lot of that floating around this city.

Emily's prep team had barred me from the room after one too many intrusions into their makeover process, to be fair, I have little to no trust in those morons after the opening parade debacle. It wouldn't do well after Emily's fantastic score to send her out to the interview looking like a fool. Get along famously with Brutus and the citizens will love you too, mess this whole thing up and there is no goodwill boost, no humanitarian attachment. Become just another soon-to-be-dead face to these people and the sooner you will be dead. So, excuse me for vetoing their asinine plans.

I glower at the scuff marks I've left on the floor from my incessant pacing; just to be petulant I did my heels harder into the ground. It's petty but let them clean up my mess. What could possibly be taking so long? I don't see anything about Emily that needs to be changed or reconfigured and they better have a life contingency plan if they augment her in any serious or permanent way. I can't even imagine those freaks of nature, art project looking fools doing something that would ruin her natural beauty. The thought makes me want to storm back into that room, courtesy be damned.

By the time Emily exits her prep room I've damn near rubbed off the entire sole of both of my shoes. It's worth it though when I see what they've done with her. Maybe some of my more violent threats went to heart because Emily looks like the poster girl for perfection. They've put her in this royal purple dress that hugs every curve like it was painted on instead of simply draped over her body. My fingers tingle in anticipation and it takes every ounce of self-restraint that I possess to not reach out and test my paint theory.

If the purpose of the dress was mesmeric in nature then mission accomplished. If I can't keep my eyes off of her then there is no way that anyone in the audience will be able to either. That pervert Brutus Flickerman better keep his hands to himself or I'll, well, I can't actually do anything about it but I will glare and hope that looks really can kill.

Emily does a girlish little spin and I can't help but trail my eyes down her legs, have they always been this long?

"What do you think?" She gestures towards the dress. "Do I have to tell Lorna and August to get a head start?"

I'm struck by a sudden case of dry mouth, I clear my throat and try to act normal. "Who?"

She laughs and shakes her head amusedly at me. "Lorna and August? My prep team. You know, you'd think you would remember the names of people who you threatened to eviscerate and then defenestrate if they screwed up, which, fancy way to threaten murder."

My cheeks flare up a bright shade of red. "Oh yes, those two. Tell them their lives are safe…for now." I playfully nudge her and she nudges me back, laughing at my rare joke. "You ready?"

She bites her lips, looking down at the soles of my shoes spread all across the floor. "As I'll ever be." She looks back up at me and smiles. "Put on a happy face, check. Smile for the camera, check. Be a robot, check."

I can't help but match her smile with one of my own. "Seems like you have it all settled. No need for me."

She playfully shoves me away before grabbing me and pulling me back in for a tight hug. "Cut the shit, Paige. You need I need you. Who else is going to threaten harmless stylists for my honor?"

"You're right, I'm one of a kind. What would you do without me?" With that I walk off towards the main staging area, I chuckle lightly as I hear Emily struggling to chase after me in her heels. Soberly I think that only too soon we'll be forced to find out what she will do without me, I'm not sure if I'm prepared to know the answer just yet.

Making it to the tribute holding area on the wings on the stage just feels like the reset, another cruel waiting game. There is little solace in the fact that District Four has better position than say a District Eleven or Twelve. Our waiting game isn't as egregiously long as theirs but all the same it feels like forever.

I actually jump, I'm not proud of it, when the loud music starts pumping into the auditorium and the lights come up in a smattering of flashes. Brutus Flickerman slides out from backstage and dances a bit of fanfare across the stage before settling in his famous high wingback chair. He looks otherworldly as he executes a sickeningly rehearsed verbal jaunt with the audience. They eat up his bullshit and I'm about ready to vomit down the back of the weird male tribute from District Five who won't stop jittering, he's making me nauseous.

Emily seems to be having similar thoughts beside me and before I can censor my actions I reach down to squeeze her hand reassuringly. It's meant to only be a momentary action but when I go to pull my hand away she squeezes it harder and won't let go.

We stay that way, interlocking our hands, my thumb begins to slowly stroke her knuckles and I can feel the shiver that involuntarily runs through her.

I can't pinpoint how long we stay like that, time seems to stop in the least annoying way possible, and suddenly I notice that we're not alone in this moment. That blonde girl from District One, the one who always looks smug like she's already won is staring at our hands. I pull mine away like she actually set fire to my hand, Emily jolts at the sudden loss of comfort but she notices the blonde, Alison I think, and nods in understanding. Alison smirks like she knows something and before I can give her a piece of my mind she's walking on stage.

And wow, I wasn't actually aware that much bullshit could come all from one person but apparently it can. Unfortunately, the audience seems to be eating this shit up. Alison is charming, nearly literally, the pants off of Brutus Flickerman. It's honestly disgusting how much I'd like to suggest that she just fuck him and get it over with and it is heading in that direction when before I know it, five minutes up.

She gracefully leaves the stage, taking special note in staring Emily down before she finally loses interest in rudimentary menacing and meets up with her own mentor.

Exactly twenty-nine minutes pass, the Capital is nothing if not a well-oiled machine, and Ben is just finishing up his smarmy interview.

There's not much room but enough to pull Emily away from the crowd of tributes.

"This won't sound like it's real advice but it is so listen, alright?" She nods. "Be yourself. Everyone else is going on the stage with an angle. The seductive one, the tough guy, whatever. You don't need that, Em. Be yourself and they will fall in love with you. Got it?"

She smiles at me but I notice with an uncomfortable disappointment that she keeps her physical distance. "Got it."

Ben leaves his chair and shakes Flickermans hand so I nudge her towards stage. "Remember what I just said."

She takes a deep breath and greets Brutus with the widest smile I have ever seen, possibly the most genuine one that anyone in the audience has ever witnessed.

I can't help the contentment that spreads throughout my body, Emily is a natural charmer. From the very beginning she has the audience's attention and by the halfway point she has them eating out of her hands. By the end it's clear they've fallen in love with the beautiful girl from the aquatic district. I'm sure the ovation she gets when she walks off the stage will go unrivaled for the rest of the night.

She's exuberant once she reaches me, pulling me into a hug no matter who is watching. Holding her closer is a no-brainer and we just bask in the moment before the levity brings us crashing back to solid ground.

"You did great." I whisper in her ear before moving away to a distance that is more than respectable.

She doesn't seem offended by my de facto rejection. "Yeah? I give you something you can work with?"

Shaking my head in agreement I motion for her to follow me away from the other tributes, our job here is done and there's no prerogative to stick around. She falls in step as we get into the elevator to floor four, a comfortable silence surrounding our travel.

Something in the air has shifted, there's a tension present that hasn't been there before. The whole tone has changed, it's like the realization is finally there that this isn't anything after this. The only thing left is the arena and Emily is looking like someone who just realized they may be about to eat their last meal.

It's unspoken but we gravitate to my room, a de facto safe haven for the last two weeks.

Emily enters first and I follow in behind closing the door, my back to her. I need a moment to collect myself, to put on a strong front for her. After a moment I'm ready. "Emily, I—."

Those are lips, definitely lips. I'm not sure why they're lips, but they are definitely lips. On me, her lips are on my lips. Emily is kissing me and I'm frozen. My brain is slower than my body and my body is frozen. I can't move, I can't think and I can't respond.

This is everything I've wanted but it's wrong, it's all wrong. I'm not the one that she wants; I'm just the one that's here. I'm a person with a body who is right in front of her and she needs to feel something real, something tangible. I'm tangible and here and she's kissing me.

I should push her away; I should be pushing her away right now. A noble person would push her away, would articulate the inappropriateness. I'm not that fucking noble, I'm not. I can't be. There's no time for nobility when this could more than likely be one of the last times I ever get to touch her. No, I'm not that noble.

I don't care who she's picturing when I kiss her back, it doesn't matter if she sees me at all. I see her and if being second or third or not on the list means I get to touch her, to kiss her, to be here for her. I can handle it. I've handled being anything but first my entire life, what's another time.

Her lips are exactly how I've imagined them, soft and full, in another life I could imagine kissing these lips every day for the rest of my life. I pull her closer, body pressed taut against mine, every inch of her body clinging tight to me.

A hand rests on the bare skin of my hip and makes small circles above my waist. I shudder and press even closer to her, it's all too much. Even being close to her is overwhelming but this is nearly fatal.

The hand is no longer content with just resting on my hip and soon my shirt is ripped off my body and thrown on the floor. I hear a gasp and realize it came from my own mouth.

It's not fair, her hands are exploring my body and that dress I loved so much an hour ago is now my greatest enemy. I fumble around her back, trying to keep in constant contact while also trying to separate her from this evil piece of fabric.

Fumble and fumble and fumble and finally she takes pity on me. I'm not sure if its desperation or frustration, vanity hopes it's the former, but she separates us for only a moment to rip the damn thing off of her body.

She's gorgeous, more gorgeous than I ever could have imagined she'd be underneath that dress. My hands can't keep up with my brain, I want everything. I want to touch her everywhere. She guides my hands underneath the swell on her breasts and I pause, unable to believe this is real. If I didn't think it would break the spell, I'd speak up and ask her to reassure me that I'm not dreaming.

Talking would only ruin things, it might be happening but it's certainly not real.

Somehow we make it to the edge of the bed and she pushes me onto my back before climbing over me, recapturing my mouth with fervor. Her hand dips lower and soon, wow, yes. That's, well, it's not a new feeling but fuck she makes it feel new. It's not how I imagined it would be, she's rougher than I expected. Though in my dreams this wasn't an 'I'm going to die' fuck but we take what we can get.

I'm shamed at how fast it takes me to come but in my defense, if your dream girl took a sudden interest, you don't want to waste time. Don't want her to realize you're not the one she wants.

I move to flip her over but she pushes me away. "Paige, no."

I furrow my brow in confusion. "No? But you just—."

"I know what I just did." She looks devastated and I'm immediately overcome with guilt. She regrets this, I should have stopped it. I've ruined everything. I'm the authority figure and should have known better, she's desperate and I let my personal feelings overrule my better judgment and this is the price I pay.

"Emily, I'm sorry." I mean it; I can't begin to fathom what I've done. "I shouldn't have let this happen."

She begins to cry and I reach over the comfort her but she recoils from my advance. It's like I've been stabbed in the chest. I'm the monster, the villain, the bad guy.

Her sobbing intensifies and she curls up into herself, making sure she's engulfed in blankets. "I betrayed her. I love her and I betrayed her. This was a mistake."

A mistake. The word reverberates through my head. Mistake. Mis-take. Mi-stake. No matter how you parse it the word just twists the dagger, it's like pulling the arrow from the flesh re-opening the wound as it exits. For what I've done, I deserve to feel this way. She may have been the aggressor but I let this happen.

There's nothing left to say, there's nothing left that I could say. All of the trust she had in me is gone with one moment of weakness. "I'll go."

This is the quickest I've ever dressed and the irony is not lost that this is my room but suddenly it feels as though I deserve nothing, not even my own space. I look back at the bed once more, hoping against rationality, against common sense that she'll ask me to stay like she's done before. Instead she's turned her back to me and hanging my head I exit my own room.

Properly shamed and a fucking fool.

* * *

**Author's Note: To the arena we go! This was our last full chapter in the relative safety of the Capital and it is into the lions den, my friends. I hope everyone is still with me and I hope to get the next chapter out soon. Adios!**


	11. Let the Games begin

Chapter Eleven: Let The Games Begin

She can't look at me, no, not can't. She won't look at me. And if the smashed mirror in my bedroom is any indication, she doesn't have any desire to look at herself either.

I did this. There's no other explanation. Sure, it takes two that's what common wisdom says but it didn't. It should have taken one person, me. One person to put a stop to it. One person to step up and diffuse the situation but I couldn't. In that moment all I could do was want and grasp and take what I couldn't have, what should never have been mine.

This has to be the reciprocal for my sins. I had mistakenly believed that loving her was my punishment. No, this is much worse.

The worst part of everything is that I've ruined her mindset, she needed to be focused, she needed to be in the zone. If she has any chance of surviving she needed to be at the peak of her performance. Looking at Emily, I'm not sure if I see a girl who even wants to make it past the night.

My fault. This is all my fault.

Every bone in my body wants to make things right, to smooth things over. But I realize that it would only assuage my own guilt, heal my wounds. I've been selfish enough in the past twenty-four hours, there's no need to add to the already monumental list of events for which I need to atone.

Still, I can't help but stare longingly in her direction. No matter the cataclysmic failure that was last night, no matter the devastating consequences I can't just extinguish my feelings for her. I'm ashamed to admit that these feelings have only grown. To finally feel her touch, to feel her body close to mine was a revelation. Like a starved person presented with a buffet of rich foods, I indulged and feel nothing but sick to my stomach. Though I know in my heart, even knowing the result, the selfish bastard inside of me would do it again a thousand times over.

The clock ticks down, only one hour left until she enters the arena. We're situated in the ready room, she and Ben both dressed in their official battle attire. I can't vouch for the other District's but I am almost entirely sure that our room is the most silent of them all. Three people and not a single person have spoken a word to another. Not one word.

I've heard that this is generally time for a big speech, one last rally cry to give the troops something to strive for, something to hold on to before the only tenable thing to hold on to is the weapon of their choosing. Or, more likely, their last gasp of life as it slips away.

So much I yearn to reassure, to tell her that everything is going to be alright. But I don't know that it will. I want to give that fire back, that spark that I singlehandedly extinguished. I knew the rules of engagement, the responsibility and I chose to shirk it all for one moment of indulgence. The only true moment of bliss I've experienced in my life, however brief its existence.

Ben paces furiously around the room and I have half the mind to murder him before he inevitably gets himself murdered in the next hour. It is, perhaps, for situations like these why they do not keep anything that could even minutely be used as a weapon in the ready room. Cynically I realize it probably also drastically cuts down on the rate of suicide as well.

With everything on my mind it's easier to focus on my murderous rage towards Ben than it is to process any depth of emotion towards Emily any further than I already have. Fifteen minutes pass as I grotesquely imagine the ways Ben will meet his demise and in a disturbing way it makes me feel better. But visualized carnage can't heal actualized pain and I once again turn my gaze to Emily.

The light hits something on her neck and suddenly it's as though something has punched a hole through my stomach. If I wasn't sitting down I would have doubled over in pure shock.

She's wearing it, my mother's necklace, the token that I'd given to her in a pure moment. I can only see the chain and not the whole necklace but I would recognize the unique braiding of the chain anywhere. It's modeled after a special knot, one that only the men in my family tied, a traditional McCullers secret. Of course, I never was taught as unfortunately to my father I never materialized into a son or stopped being the cast out daughter of a traitorous wife.

He gave the necklace to my mother on their wedding day instead of a ring, he never could wear one regularly because of his work and wanted something they could both have to signify their bond. His was cast out to the sea the day my mother disappeared and I had to carefully hide mine to make sure it didn't meet a similar fate.

To see it on Emily's neck fills me with hope, hope that I have no right being filled with but hope all the same. If she truly hated me, if she truly felt she had nothing to live for then she wouldn't bother. No matter what transpired she would never take something so precious if she only wanted to be gone. I smile for the first time since last night, she wants to live.

I don't need verbal confirmation, if she doesn't want to speak to me before she goes that is somehow alright because suddenly I feel as though seeing her again is not a crazy dream. She may not look like it right at this moment but she wants to fight. She will fight. Words can't speak louder than her non-verbal signal. Conscious or not, she wants to live.

Before I know it there are only ten minutes left, time seems to be slipping through our fingers faster than I can clutch at its remnants. A ruse enters my mind, I'll just rise into the arena in her stead. I'll find a way to escape this room and she'll make a run for it. By the time the confusion settles she'll be long gone and hopefully on her way back home.

Then it hits me, she would surely 'disappear' just like my mother did. The Capital doesn't take too kindly to ruses, especially and specifically when they are the butt of the joke. There is no way to curb the cruel thrust of fate. Fate is fate because it can be. Not because it's fair. There is no benevolence to fate there is only fate. And fate rules us all.

Five minutes. Only five minutes left and all I want in the world is to hear her voice in person one last time. I have faith but a greater portion of me has realism and realism dictates that I at least need to try. I need to try to hear her once more. Even if it's venom, vitriol spewed directly at me I can handle it because it would be from her. Her voice could spit the sweetest venom and I would die a happy woman.

Die. A word I can't even dare to think from this point forward.

Three minutes. I have to try. I have to. Cowardice ruled my life once but in the past years I can no longer allow it. I'm going over there, I must.

It's harder than it looks. The second I move I can feel her anxiety level rise until it is a tangible force thrust between the two of us. Tension, far removed from the tension of last night, rises like poisonous smog between us but I carry through. I must carry through.

Two minutes. She looks up at me and I awkwardly hover her and it's such a distorted tableau of last night that the coward within me screams at my body to turn around and walk away. No, I can't walk away.

"Emily." My voice is a gasp, near a whisper and it's a shock if she heard me at all. She doesn't move a muscle. I clear my throat and try again. "Emily, please."

She says nothing though I'm sure she's heard me. I can't apologize; I won't apologize because I can't. The logic is cyclical but there is no time for logic here, not anymore.

"You're wearing it." I nod towards the necklace though there is no need; everything else on her body is regulation. "I wasn't sure if you would. Not after—."

One minute. She looks up at me with such anguish that I immediately feel like the most selfish bastard in the world once more. I've done this for me. Leaving her alone would have be the selfless and honorable thing to do. Once again, I'm not that noble. I should be but I'm not.

She stands and once again we're face to face and nearly as close as we were last night, as close as we can be in any sort of mixed company.

"I couldn't—." She chokes down emotion and stares at the clock. Ticking. Ticking. Ticking. "Paige, I couldn't take it off."

It's what she doesn't say that speaks louder than what she does. This isn't a grand declaration of love, this isn't a realization of emotion, a last plea to a cherished lover. I choke down my tears, I can cry them on my eye. Right now I need to be strong, I promised I'd be strong and I'd already broken one too many promises to this girl.

Thirty seconds.

"I understand." I don't. I smile anyway. "Come on, we have to get you on the platform."

My words are perfunctory, business-like and detached. They are the way I should have been all along, the way I have to be now. But my eyes stare into hers; my eyes shout the things my mouth can't say. My eyes shout 'I love you', they shout 'please love me back'. Her eyes respond with a resigned 'I can't', a resolute 'I wish I could' and the moment is gone.

Ten seconds. I load her onto the platform, step away with a professional nod. Disinterestedly I note that Ben has somehow made it safely as well.

Five seconds.

"Don't leave early, whatever you do, don't leave early." She nods in understanding.

Three seconds.

I'm scrambling, the disembodied voice counts down to their ascension and I'm struck with the finality of it all. All I can do is spout more tips we've gone over a hundred times.

"Avoid the blood bath, be smart." She nods again.

One second.

It's time, it's really time.

Zero.

She rises away from me, a small resolute nod of her head and she's gone. Somehow I thought there would be fanfare, pomp and circumstance of some sort but there is nothing but an empty space where she was only a moment ago.

She's gone.

I feel someone grab my arm and spin around ready to choke whoever dare to break the moment to death. It's Fulton and she looks as though there actually is a murderous look on my face and she believes I intend to follow through. I don't blame her, I'm feeling very much as though I would like to.

"We have to hurry, the countdown has begun. The Games are about to begin." Her voice shakes slightly and I take pleasure in that. She believes I am the monster that I feel I am. It's comforting and for a brief second I appreciate her, she sees me as I do. As I am.

She's right and I allowed her to drag me to our designated viewing room. By the time we arrive there are only five seconds left until the inauguration of the 20th Hunger Games.

The seconds go by faster this time; she's not in the flesh and is officially away from me. A booming cannon sounds and it's official.

Let the Games begin.


	12. A River Runs Through It

Chapter Twelve: A River Runs Through It

It takes every single bone in my body to not look away. It's funny in the least humorous way possible, you'd think that someone like me, someone who has murdered and taken life and been there would be more prepared than anyone. Instead I want to be anywhere else. But I can't tear myself away, even if I was allowed to, even if I was allowed to want to, I couldn't.

She's in there; this is this culmination of everything we worked towards in the past two weeks. Every private chat, every tactical conference, every training session led to this moment. And she could be gone in a fraction of the time it took her to prepare. The ghastly thought threatens to drain my face of whatever color I naturally possessed.

The main angle of the camera doesn't give the greatest impression of the arena, the cornucopia is really the main focal point and the sheer chaos surrounding it doesn't really leave much room for beautiful panoramic shots of the arena. It's one area in which the Capital begs patience of its audience, though, most of them don't get when the slaughter is this bountiful.

The cornucopia is living up to its name, bountiful and giving, but perhaps not in a way that benefits the tributes. More than I've ever seen, the tributes flock to the cornucopia which makes sense because I've never seen so much laying at its base. There are backpacks that seem packed to the brim with supplies, weapons of more styles than I even knew existed and even small amounts of food and water. Nearly unprecedented is the haul which is probably why so many tributes ignore their greater sensibilities and enter into the abyss.

I can't see Emily.

I've looked and scanned over the heads of the tributes what must be hundreds of times by now. She has to be in that pack, obviously, but it has grown into such a cluster that I honestly can't discern where she is.

It makes me more nervous than I've ever been in my life.

She has obviously ignored my warning to stay away from the bloodbath because I surely would have seen her among the few smart enough to run away from the scrum of people vying for supplies.

Suddenly, what was a fairly congenial throng, especially for an event such as the Hunger Games loses its formality altogether. These kids suddenly remember that they should be murdering each other and so it begins.

The first to go is a mousy little blonde, I've never seen her before and the callous part of me can see how she didn't make enough of an impact on anyone to be spared the honor of first kill. Still, nobody deserves to go in such an apathetic way. That girl from District 3, Mona, stabbed her in the jugular so carelessly that it was almost as if instead of committing her first kill she simply encountered a small obstacle on a leisurely walk.

I hear the whoops of the people of the Capital from just outside where we're watching the action, reveling in the first bloodshed of the 20th Hunger Games. Fucking animals.

Finally, I see Emily and it feels as though something is slowly squeezing the muscles of my heart with an iron fist. She's exactly where I told her not to be, in the thick of things foraging for supplies. I temper down a swell of jealously, she's with that hulk from Seven, Tim or whatever the fuck his name is. Toby? Who can be bothered to care, really?

I don't trust him I can tell you that. There's something latently cold in his eyes, something behind the warmth what his actions are currently projecting. Because right now I'm forced to be thankful for him, he's protecting Emily as she gathers, shielding her from the storm that's otherwise brewing around them. It's good television and I can sense that snake of a person Byron Montgomery honing in on that storyline already, after all, it's entertainment.

I wish the angle was better, I can't even see what's she grabbing. All I know is that no matter what protection she has, there's a danger looming. The career pack made up of both tributes from District One and Two and unsurprisingly Ben, has honed in on Emily and Toby standing alone away from the action.

All of my energy is channeled towards willing her to hurry the fuck up, maybe she thinks she's safe with the hulk guarding her but no one is safe. It's like everything I ever said to her was forgotten. Trust no one, don't go into the fray, don't fuck around. Well, she's three for three so far.

It's all my fault of course, how could she not think that everything I ever said to her had some sort of ulterior motivation? Why wouldn't she? The trust I instilled for twelve whole days gone in an instant and now, apparently, she's playing at the role of sitting duck. If she wants to die, that's fine; I can't look away either way. One more image permanently burned upon my retinas, one more image to keep me in a cold sweat no matter what sleep aids I attempt.

That train of thought becomes moot, I'd like to think that my brain waves influenced her sudden movement but more likely it was a natural survival instinct. Apparently she's not trying to die, after all. Either that or the carpenter alerted her to the danger and she decided it was high time to get the fuck out of there.

She and Toby gather two of the packs; she shoves a few daggers ideal for throwing into hers and grabs a sturdy looking broadsword off the pile of weapons. Toby grabs an axe that looks more suitable for battle than wood chopping and together they disappear past the cornucopia into a wooded area.

The career pack loses interest in Emily and Toby as they flee and instead focus on picking off the low hanging fruit. Typical careers, of course, they spend their entire lives training for this moment so it doesn't bother them to kill children who just weren't made for this. It's second nature.

I feel the bile rise up as the slaughter person by person everyone who cannot carry on, those who were injured right off the bat, those who just were never going to make it the first place, those who others just didn't even finish off in their haste to escape into the woods. They delight in making sure that everyone stupid enough to stay in their immediate radius pays for their idiocy. It's truly brutal to watch which means that the citizens of the Capital love it, as they disappear away from the cornucopia they leave a river of blood in their wake.

After this display, sponsors are sure to be primed to donate to their favorite tribute. Unfortunately for my cause, Emily didn't really show them anything. Sponsors want to donate to the person who cut the throat out of a mousy blonde, not the pragmatic duo who gathered their supplies and plan on playing defense until the offensive comes to them.

It's not as though I wanted her to kill something and it's surely not as though I wanted her to die but for my purposes, to be able to help her in the long run she needed to do something more than grab her things and go. It's counter intuitive to my previous advice but with a bloodbath as profound as this one, the sponsors want to back who will give them blood not a beautiful story about friendship and perseverance under fire.

As the remaining tributes scatter I get a better picture of the arena and objectively it's gorgeous. Massive trees make up most of what I can see, but to the Gamemaker's advantage these trees don't provide much cover the tributes, enough to give a semblance of safety but not the actuality of security. A nice thick oak tree would have been safer but the trunks are thin and it's the sheer volume and the quality of trees that makes up the dense forest.

It's the perfect set up for tribute driven drama, the Capital, as always will have their machinations to drive the action along but truly this arena is set up for the blood to flow. Shelter will be difficult; the arena is small despite the illusion of the woods. The tributes will be on top of each other soon enough and isn't that exactly what they want.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Wow, that was entirely way too long without a chapter and I am extremely apologetic. A lot of changes have been going on in my life and I'm incredibly busy but I love this story and I promise it will be finished. Just bear with me and hopefully the next chapter won't take a month. Enjoy!


	13. Twelve Down

Chapter Thirteen: Twelve Down

Six hours gone and not a single tribute have managed to locate any water, not a single one of them. As mentor I get a specific feed following my tributes and then the general feed broadcasted to everyone else and as far as I could tell there wasn't a single drop in this goddamn arena.

Of course, statistically there would have to be something. It doesn't make an interesting spectacle if all of the tributes slowly deteriorate and die from dehydration. I guess the hallucinations and the slow losing of their minds would make for scintillating personal drama but mostly it'd just read like a public service announcement for hydration. Let's just say that people don't spend the money they do in anticipation for a year to get schooled on the dangers of not hydrating. There'd surely be a riot. Hell, the anticipation of that catastrophe almost makes me wish it were true. Almost.

Emily is the only thing keeping me from saying, fuck this, let them all get it over with quickly. At least they won't have to kill each other, pure survival of the fittest. The one who carries the most water weight? Yeah, there's not even a way that I can get excited about watching that. Even if it is technically the more humane option.

No, that bastard Byron Montgomery has something up his sleeves, his apparently sadistic and quite difficult sleeves.

Emily and Toby seem to have decided they're safe for the moment and as the day begins to fade into night they begin to set up camp.

The carpenter has one useful function in an arena filled with trees, I watch as he constructs a fairly basic structure, from here it looks like a slightly more stable lean-to, against a sturdier looking grouping of trees. He works slowly, obviously conserving energy since in their slow but methodical haste they deigned to take any of the offered food and obviously with no water combined with their trek, energy is slowly declining.

Meanwhile, Emily carefully marks out a perimeter from their camp, survival skills from the two week boot camp obviously kicking in. It's difficult to tell exactly what she's doing at first, it mostly just looks like she's inspecting the forest floor and creating clear boundaries for their camp.

She searches through the pack she took from the cornucopia frowning in consternation, it's obvious that what she's searching for is not immediately apparent. After a few minutes of searching, she finally cracks a small smile. It's only been a few hours but I already miss that smile, regardless of the situation in which it's deployed.

A small spool of thin but sturdy fishing line is pulled out of the pack, if I didn't know any better I would have thought the Capital wanted her to get her hands on some. Of course, they're not that generous and it's more likely that luck has won out over all else.

She goes back out to her perimeter and begins to string the fishing wire low and tight around their boundary, the line can't be more than an inch or two off of the ground. Every secure stretch is then covered with a light dusting of leaves, not too thick but enough that it looks like a natural occurrence on the forest floor. She too works slowly but after ten minutes she's created a makeshift trip line around their camp. Obviously there is neither the time nor the supplies to create a full blown booby trap to catch intruders, but this is an adequate and creative start. Despite my earlier reservations about her critical thinking skills, I'm brimming with pride.

There can only be about a half hour before dark; at the very least they need to find a small amount of food to keep up their strength. It's not absolutely necessary, they certainly could survive through the night and into morning but I doubt this lull with last long. The rest of the remaining tributes are in the same situation as them but it can't stay that way forever.

Toby finishes their structure and moves over to where Emily is putting a final inspection on her work. They whisper to each other and I can't quite hear what they're saying, the equipment within the arena is fairly high tech but they're talking low enough that it's not picked up by the microphones.

The gist of it must be about the food situation because after a moment the conversation is over and Toby is carefully stepping over the perimeter and heading out into the woods with his ax in hand.

I curse the inevitability that is Emily being left alone in the woods, my eyes switch over to the screen showing the career pack, courtesy of Ben's involvement I get to see them, and it comforts me that they're arguing over whether to make camp or continue to hunt for their fellow tributes. The pushing and shoving and arguing are not only making noise but seem to be expending their precious energy. It's both a waste of time and horrible strategy, that's the problem with the careers, all of that preparation being raised as the exalted ones in their districts. Ego can be a bit of an issue.

Regardless, I'm relieved that at least Emily doesn't have to worry about them for the time being. Emily, she somehow manages to make squatting in the woods under a makeshift shelter look absolutely stunning. I remember my games; I'm surprised they still recognized me as human once I really dug in. I certainly had to switch off my humanity, I didn't feel like one. Perhaps that was the best for me; Emily seems to thrive on the minimal human contact she's gotten so far. I don't trust the guy as far as I could throw him—not very far—but for now, Toby seems to be helping.

In my distraction, I completely missed Emily begin to stoke a small fire using some kindling and a flint that she must have found in her pack. Those things don't exactly occur naturally in the woods. She's keeping it at the perfect size, large enough to cook anything Toby might return with and certainly large enough to give off an adequate amount of warmth, which they'll definitely need as the sun retreats.

Just as the sun begins to dip beneath the horizon, Toby returns with an adequately sized rabbit. I'm not exactly sure how he managed to snare that, regardless, it's an absolute coup. As far as I've been able to tell, they are the first tributes to find food.

Either way, Emily seems measuredly pleased, obviously not looking a gift horse in the mouth but I know from experience that rabbit isn't really a delicacy where we're from. But it doesn't look like she'll be getting any fish anytime soon, at least not drawn naturally from the arena.

Toby makes quick work of cleaning and skinning the rabbit, Emily is obviously disgusted if the look on her face is any indication. Still, she dutifully pays attention to his every action understanding that he could be gone in a moment and she'll need to know how to do this.

They finally get the rabbit on a spit over the fire when it begins. I cringe as I remember my first night in the arena, of course I was alone, and hell I preferred it that way, especially when the cannons began.

The first night is particularly brutal; it's the day where the most death occurs and every cannon shot feels like it's right next to your ear. Every picture projected in the sky looks like that person could have been your best friend, the more isolated you are the more you think that they might have been. The sound, well, the sound feels like it goes on forever. Sure it can't feasibly be more than a few minutes but it seems to stretch on for a lifetime. The fucking announcement of the deaths of the day probably lasts longer than some of those kids survived in the arena.

Emily flinches as the first cannon comes on followed by the picture of the blonde that Mona stabbed in the jugular, apparently she was the female tribute from District 5. She dips her head down after the first picture, despite the confidence projected in her previous actions; she's still the same Emily. She doesn't have the callousness of the tributes, currently suspending their infighting for revelry over the kills they personally caused.

No, she is many things but cold is still not one of them. A selfish part of me wishes that it was, we'd be kindred spirits, two fractured souls in this fractured world. The cynical part of me knows that if she makes it through this, we will be. But the reality is that right now, in this moment, she's not. Her eyes are frozen to the dirt, squeezed closed as cannon after cannon goes off. Flinching with every sound, after the first one I know it's no longer surprise, anguish rolls off of her in waves. It's almost as though I can feel her pain it's so strong. She's human in this moment in a way I don't think I ever considered her to be before. A girl, one year younger than me, logically I knew it but it's not until now that I truly saw it.

Before now she had the bravado, she pushed me, pushed me so hard that I somehow tricked myself into believing that she was stronger than she is. She's strong, no doubt about that but she's also a girl. Not even an adult in the eyes of anyone, so young, so vulnerable. Right now, in this private moment in the woods, she's never looked more like the seventeen years she is.

Twelve in total, that's the total count of the perished. Twelve down, twelve to go. Twelve pictures, twelve cannons, twelve families who might never leave their homes again. Twelve children returning home in boxes, some in pieces, some unrecognizable, there's hardly an open casket funeral for a fallen tribute.

The very thought makes me turn quickly to the nearest wastebasket and vomit up everything I've eaten, from the looks of it, for the past two weeks. I heave and heave and in this moment I'm thankful that Fulton and the others deemed me too sullen to watch with. I'm alone and in this moment as human as I've ever been.

I want to sob uncontrollably; I can't allow it to happen but even wanting to do it is more than I've felt in a long time. Hunched over this wastebasket, it all comes back to me. It's different when you're in the trenches, killing someone because you have to. It's easy to shut everything off; the person you just strangled to death doesn't have a family, not in the moment. They're a means to an end. It's you or them, your family or theirs. How many people did I kill who had families who actually loved them? I've never felt more selfish in my life.

Seeing those pictures, those kids, I've never been surer in my life that one of those pictures should have belonged to me last year. I truly have nothing, I am no one. If Emily dies tomorrow, there will be nothing in this world to tether me. I live because dying, killing myself, would be spitting on the grave of everyone I killed, everyone who died so that I could live. Those tributes, my mother, everyone.

I spit the remaining bile from my mouth and check back on the screen. My meltdown has allowed Emily time to gather her emotions and she and Toby are solemnly, silently eating small amounts of rabbit. Smartly they save some just in case food doesn't come so quickly.

Sitting around a pitying myself will do nothing for this girl, this girl who has already shown that she wants to live. If she wants to live then I am not going to give up on her on this end. As difficult as it will be, I have to get it together. I don't care if she never speaks to me again; if she lives that will be reward enough.

I need a strategy, there's still no sign of water as far as I can see. Instead of puking my guts out I need to put my best diplomatic foot forward. If Emily is going to survive she's going to need more than a lumberjack for an ally, some basic survival skills and the will to live. She needs sponsors.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So we're definitely in the arena now, reaching the end of day one. This update definitely came faster than one month so I'm cautiously optimistic that over the next month or so I'll be able to get a few updates out. As always, I really hope that everyone is still enjoying the journey.


	14. In The Dark

Chapter Fourteen: In The Dark

I was not built for this. There is not a single diplomatic bone that I possess in my body. People like Emily, they were built for this. Hell, even that conniving blonde tribute from District One is probably the perfect specimen for this bullshit. But me? No, I am most definitely not built for this.

Yet, I have to be. Because if I have any hope of seeing Emily again, the real Emily and not just the version permanently and incessantly burned into the dark recesses of my mind, then I have to schmooze. I have to play the game.

That's not quite my forte.

Here's the thing that no one tells you about politics, it's about instinct. There's no handbook. Sure, someone can teach you theory or strategy, the best way to manipulate people like they're pieces on some sort of chessboard of life. In theory, sure, that's a thing.

The reality is not so cut and dry.

It's all about instinct. Like fishing, you can teach someone the mechanics. Fashion a rod, hook on the bait, and throw it in the water. Sure, that's basic. But catching a fish isn't a series of maneuvers leading to a consistent result. It's second nature; it's the rod becoming an extension of your hand, a preternatural calm that lures the fish in. You can teach someone to fish, but not every fucking idiot can catch one.

Sponsors are like fish and I'm the kid with the shaky hand. The one who sends ripples through the lake, the one who sends everyone home starving without a single catch on the day.

It's the perfect occasion, a casual soiree thrown by one of the richest sycophants in the city. I'm surrounded by the biggest fish there are but I'm all out of bait.

Sure Emily is still alive and if I had my way that'd be enough to draw in everything she could ever need. But supplies are expensive and even those who have the money to spare aren't just willing to throw a bone to any poor tribute.

They have to be shown something and a few basic survival skills aren't enough to get the crowd drooling for more. There's no narrative to sell, it's not like I can walk up to any of the people and profess my love for her. In any case, that might get her killed faster. Or perhaps not? Either way it's not a risk I'm willing to take based on a whim, a whim that smells a lot like desperation.

The others are naturals. It's like they were born to do this, or perhaps it's the experience. As would logically be the case I'm the only fresh meat, for everyone else this is second nature or as close to it as they can get.

Drinks in hand, uncomfortable clothes, plastered on smiles. Second nature.

I can hardly keep from fidgeting in this monstrosity of a dress Fulton had laid out on my bed, with a simple note suggesting I attempt to act like a civilized human being. Red silk, far too short. I feel like one of those women sneaking around the District docks late at night, the ones nobody talks about. My skin crawls.

"You must be new here."

I can't help but blush as I jump at the voice that managed to sneak up on me. Immediately my eyes are filled with the sight of a blonde who seems far too chipper for the occasion. There's something in her eyes, a wisdom that belies her cheerful disposition.

Unfortunately I can do nothing but stare dumbfounded, I will my mouth to move and embarrassingly manage to flap my lips around. Of course, there's not a sound coming out. That would require some level of social skills that I apparently do not possess.

It's no matter, the blonde just smirks and extends her hand towards me, allegedly finding my inept ways strangely charming. Or perhaps this is how she always treats mute strangers. "Hanna Marin." She smiles and cocks her head to the side.

My voice comes back to me and I politely take her peace offering. "Paige."

She laughs. "Just Paige?" Her head cocks again. It reminds me of a puppy, in the least offensive of ways. Not that she's like a dog, just exuberant. "Very stylish."

"No, uh, McCullers. Paige McCullers."

"Nice to meet you, McCullers Paige McCullers." She winks, letting me in on the joke. This Hanna Marin may be jovial but apparently also kind, sensing my absolute discomfort. "I can already tell you love this party. It's like a sixth sense." Then she leans in, far too close for any stranger normally but somehow I can tell this woman can be trusted, and whispers. "Don't worry, I hate it too. But grins get wins."

"Yeah." I hate how awkward I am, why can't I just talk to this woman like a normal person?

"Not much of a talker, huh?" I nod; glad she's not giving me shit. "No worries, I can do enough for the both of us." She pauses, looking me up and down in a way that should make me uncomfortable but for whatever reason doesn't. "I haven't seen you around any of these before, which means you're new, which explains why you look like you're about to vomit on my shoes."

"I won last year, so, here I am. Standing in the corner."

Her face brightens as if something has finally clicked. "Oh, you're _that_ Paige."

I'm suddenly affronted. "How many Paige's are there?"

Again she smiles like I'm a fucking bear she finds to be adorable, instead of the prickly person most find me to be. "You'd be surprised. I recognize you now, you probably don't recognize me. I obviously don't look like I've aged but you were probably a little young when I won." She leans into me again and really this woman has no sense of personal space. "Almost ten years, can you believe it?"

Actually no, I can't. And she doesn't even look like she's had work done. But that's beside the point. "I'm not familiar, sorry."

"It's okay, nobody pays attention to District Eight anyway. I'm still the only victor and the year I won, it was a fluke. Seriously, my only focus was on looking fabulous before I died. I spent so much time trying to look good that before I knew it the competition had forgotten about me. I won nearly by default, safe to say they have those sort of kinks worked out. Can't really forget about tributes anymore with the traps they set these days."

Against my better judgment I crack a smile, one of the first genuine smiles in a long while. It shouldn't be funny, twenty-three people died while this woman practiced guerilla beautification. Still, it's the first legitimately hilarious thing I've heard since I can't even remember.

"I needed that." The smile that is generally so hard to come by remains on my face. "Thanks."

Hanna executes a ridiculous mock bow, somehow managing not to spill her drink. "Always a pleasure. It's nice to have someone to actually talk to, like I said, nobody pays attention to Eight."

I can't say it, of course I can't say it, but it's nice to talk to someone. Someone who doesn't subconsciously have their boot heel stationed right above my heart at all moments ready to strike at will. It's honestly just, well, nice.

With all of my thoughts on Emily, sometimes it's hard to come back full circle and think about myself. I've been so concerned about her well-being and her allies and her safety that I've hardly stopped to think about mine. Who do I have in my corner? Certainly not Emily, not even just by prohibitive distance but if she were here, would she be in my corner? It's a question I'd rather not answer. The conclusion might be too painful.

But Hanna, well, a decade is a long time to pick up on things. Maybe she could be my key. To me this room is nothing but mystery course, filled with traps at every corner. But maybe Hanna knows something I don't, in fact, I'd almost bet on it. Hell, it can't hurt to try. Worse thing that could happen, I end up alone again. Wouldn't be the first time.

I take a long pull at my drink and focus again on the conversation. Hanna's been talking but I haven't exactly been listening, I'm sure she can tell, but if she can she politely doesn't mention it.

An appropriate pause comes up and I jump at my opportunity to speak. "How much do you know about sponsors? Other than me needing them and them being impossible to acquire."

Her responding smirk is all I need for an answer, somehow I think I've just taken two giant steps forward.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And onward and upward goes the Paige. Also, a wild Hanna Marin appears because who could ask for a better ally? I hope everyone is having an awesome holiday season or winter if you are so inclined.


	15. What Lies Beneath

Chapter Fifteen: What Lies Beneath

Was I giving off some sort of secret signal? Some sort of secret message that blared like a fucking siren: KISS ME, I'M LONELY. That had to be the case otherwise why was this new lady, Hanna, try to eat my fucking face off?

My arms immediately attempt to push her off me to no avail, this lady has strength beyond what he shimmering dress and flashy makeup betrays. She continues to trail kisses up my neck until she reaches my ear. Nipping on it forcefully.

I'm about to muster up all of my strength to push of this lady who I thought was going to be my ally when I hear a harsh whisper in my ear. "Play along, you idiot. This is how it works around here, just, follow my lead."

I'm reluctant to trust Hanna, I mean, she seems nice enough sure. What could be wrong? She's beautiful and thus far incredibly kind, if not randomly egregiously handsy. She did say she would help me though and she's done this before. Definitely, you know, the kissing. But also, the manipulating, the politics and if this is what I need to do to help Emily, then there's really no more consideration needed.

Hanna finally pulls away from attempting to eat my neck and shoots me what I guess is supposed to be a sexy look, grabbing my hand she practically drags me out of the party. Damn, someone really needs to talk to this girl about maybe minimizing the weight training in her workout. Or maybe being absolutely insane just gives her an edge in strength.

"Where are we going?" If I'm going to be murdered in a back alley, I'd at least like to know which one.

She turns back towards me, once again rolling her eyes. "God you ask a lot of questions. Just trust me, I'm not going to hurt you...much."

It's like she can't control herself from giving me shit when I'm obviously I'm just a little bit confused right about now.

The Capital, I begrudgingly admit, is a gorgeous place. If it didn't represent the home base of the worst kind of people, it'd be the sort of place that people would vacation. Well, back when people did that sort of thing. Back before the rebellion made us virtual, well quite literal actually, prisoners in our own homes, in our Districts. Our natural domains the only one you'd ever seen in person unless you were unlucky enough to be reaped.

We passed by a fountain, marble statue heads of the President lining where people might sit, if it was that sort of fountain. In any case, it just looks like a cog in the machine. Propaganda. Like the book my mother read me once when I was little, I can't remember the title. Big brother is always watching you. It's like that.

Before I can have a moment further to contemplate the fountain we're ducking into an alleyway.

I open my mouth to ask another question but like she has a sixth sense Hanna turns and pins me with a look that silently tells me to shut my mouth. So I do, hey, I'm only human and slightly afraid of this woman. Just slightly, I've killed but this woman is an enigma. The unknown element is the scariest of them all.

Finally, after what seems like half an hour of running we reach what looks like an apartment building. Not the kind of place I was expecting to reach after our long jaunt through alleyways and back entrances. It's actually, well, sort of beautiful to be honest. The exact sort of place that I'd picture Hanna living in at any stage of her life. I don't know a whole lot about District Eight but I know it couldn't be like this. Still, it suits her.

"You want to gape some more because I'd like to go inside, get down to business if you know what I mean." She smirks and there's mirth in her eyes. I wonder if she can sense the fear in mine. Probably, this girl seems the intuitive type.

We reach the eighth floor of the building and right off the elevator Hanna pulls out a card and swipes it through a fancy white door. Step steps inside and stares at me as I linger outside the door, awkwardly of course as if I know another.

She chuckles and waves her hand through the entrance. "Welcome to my humble abode, McCullers Paige McCullers. Now get inside, you'll catch your death out there."

I don't really know what that means, it's not even cold but I hesitate to question her logic. Maybe there's certain wisdom in her insanity, but the word death is one of those triggers and I immediately step inside.

She slams the door shut and locks the five padlocks equipped on the inside of the door. It's only then that she takes a huge sigh of relief and it's like her entire countenance shifts. No longer is she the smirky confident woman who sauntered up to me at the party, attempted to eat my face off and dragged me miles on foot through the Capital. No, this is like she's morphed into another person. Smaller somehow, certainly less imposing. I'm not entirely sure what to do with that.

"You okay?" Smooth, very very smooth.

She nods, catching her breath and recouping her emotions. "Yeah, great. Sorry about the whole, molestation earlier, I had to make it look like we had a pretty fucking good reason to leave that party."

I furrow my brows; I'm not exactly following. "A good reason?"

She nods like I'm an idiot, like I should just intrinsically know what she's talking about. Didn't we discuss already that I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing?

"A damn good reason." She shucks off her dress and I immediately turn away from her naked body, embarrassed at her level of comfort around me at such an early stage. "What are you—oh, sorry." Hanna doesn't look incredibly apologetic but I let it go, this is her place after all. "I had to make it look like we were sneaking off to fuck. You, me, all of us. We're being watched every step we make."

That makes my throat run dry; I guess I should have suspected it. Of course we are. Nothing we do is free; nothing is sacred in this fucking place. Suddenly I have the urge to smash something, preferably the President's windpipe. I'd take Byron Montgomery as a close second.

Hanna laughs and I can't understand why she'd be laughing at something like this. "What the fuck is so funny?"

Hanna shakes her head in amusement. "God you're so adorable, too bad your hearts not in it, I think we'd have some fun."

I'm so angry that I don't even take a second to question how she knows my heart isn't in it. I guess because I didn't kiss her back at the party? Let's hope it's that, the alternative is too disturbing to consider.

She continues on, either ambivalent to my struggle or more likely she just doesn't give a fuck. "I have this apartment swept for bugs every day, there aren't any in here. We're safe here, safe with me. That's why I had to get us back, alright? Calm down, you lovable idiot."

I don't know why but I'm inclined to believe her, it's the eye. Definitely the eyes, quite sincere indeed.

"It had to look like you were coming back here to sleep with me, see, our lovely President doesn't really like me to have many friends. Good things don't tend to happen to those people. But apparently he recognizes I have certain needs, from here on out, if you want help, you have to at least appear to be fulfilling those. Understood?" She sticks out her pinky and I just stare at it in contemplation.

Emily, that's the first thing that comes to mind. This would obviously be for her, to help her. She needs sponsors and I'm as useless as it gets without actually being completely devoid of intellect. Emily needs me to do this, still, I can't help but feeling like I'm betraying her.

For all intents and purposes, to everyone on the Capital, I'd basically be Hanna Marin's fuck buddy. It feels like a betrayal. A necessary betrayal but still, a betrayal. But war, and this is what this basically boils down to, war is no place for morality. Moral high ground is a luxury afforded to those who can breathe easy in their down time. I guess that'd required down time, wouldn't it?

I thrust my pinky out awkwardly to meet hers and we swear on it. "Agreed." Something dawns on me suddenly, why would she want to help me so much? Doesn't she have tributes of her own to worry about, wouldn't helping me get sponsors divert from that? "Wait, answer a question for me."

"I can do that." She nods and waits for me to continue.

"Why would you help me? Don't you have tributes of your own to worry about?" Suddenly, I rack my brain. Trying to remember the Districts of the fallen on this first day. Was District Eight on that list?

Her hands drop and suddenly a dark look passes over her face, it's unnatural. Sure she'd changed some when we walked in the door but it's like someone else entirely is standing in front of me. Previously jovial, it's like a shell has taken over.

"No, I don't. I never do."

I feel like a jerk, a jerk of the highest order and still my thirst for answer supersedes my better judgment. "Why not?" If possible her look darkens, almost unconsciously I take a step back from her.

"Remember what I told you at the party? How I won a decade ago?" I nod and she continues. "The Capital doesn't like to be tricked, looking like fools during their own punishment. Well, it's just not something that people do. Not since me." Again I nod, I remember after that year the controls in the Games, and they were definitely present in my own run. A way to make sure that the winner had to do it by blood. "My tributes never make it past the first day, they make sure of it, and they never will as long as I live, they make sure of that too."

Is she saying what I think she's saying? "The Games are rigged against District Eight?"

A blank look crosses her face and she fights against the emotion welling up in her eyes. "It's my fault, I thought I was smarter than them, that I could keep my humanity, and I did for a short while, and then they ripped it away from me piece by precious piece. And they will do it every year until I die. I'm the reason why every year two sets of families mourn their children, why they always will. The Capital doesn't fuck around, I learned that the hard way."

"Why don't you just kill yourself? Wouldn't that stop them?"

She laughs but it's not like before, if a laugh could contain poison this one would. "Don't you think I've tried? I would do anything to spare my District, my people, of this pain. My life is not worth all of theirs. Don't you see? Our lives are not our own. The second we won, we became theirs."

Without my permission, tears escape my eyes. It's like Hanna has unleashes something primal within me and I find that I can't stop myself. Soon I've collapsed in a chair under the weight of my own emotions. This woman, Hanna, she gets it. She understands me in a way that I never thought anyone else would.

Suddenly a cold feeling washes over me.

Emily. This is her prize, her prize for winning. Am I so selfish that I'd condemn her to this? A thought crosses my mind that I immediately dismiss; it isn't my decision to make. She chose life and even if this is what is waiting for her on the other side, life is what I'm going to give her. Even if it takes everything I have. Because if she comes out on the other side, I'll be there, I may be the only person in her life who can help her through this. I'll be her Hanna, her guide through this side of life.

An arm is thrown around my shoulder, and for the first time since Emily, I don't shrug off this offer of comfort. Hanna squeezes her hand on my shoulder and I look into her eyes, seeing her for the first time. This woman I dismissed as frivolous but maybe a means to an end could be the one person in my life who holds the actual answers, a true friend.

She brandishes a tissue, seemingly out of nowhere, and begins to wipe my eyes clean. "You alright?" I shake my head assuredly; I think I am going to be. Eventually. "I'm sorry about all this, I didn't mean for this to get so heavy. It's not really my style, you know?" The wide smile is back and I find that it's actually infectious. "So what do you need to know, kid?"

Still smiling, I respond, a feeling of renewed life flowing throughout my body. "How do I get sponsors? I have no earthly idea what I'm doing." She nods emphatically. I groan. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to everyone, don't worry, everyone has a first time." She winks at me and I blush at the easy way we seem to have fallen into camaraderie. "You have to play the game and more than that, you have to dig up dirt on some important people. These people like to throw their money around on plastic surgery and food and pills that make them throw up the food so they can eat more fucking food. But support for tributes, yeah, not unless you're willing to make a really good case. And let me tell you, you don't want to have to make your case like that."

I'll take her word for it, by her face it seems like making a case is a euphemism for something I'm positively not willing to do. "So then what?"

"That's where I come in, I've been around. I have ears everywhere." Abruptly she stands and moves through her apartment, grabbing some paper and a writing utensil. Sitting back next to me she starts scribbling down a name and a few facts. I try to peer over her shoulder but she smacks me away and with a little huff I cross my arms and wait for her to finish. Finally, after much contemplation she finishes with a flourish. "Here, this should be good to get you started." She hands me the piece of paper. "Keep this secure, understand me? You don't want them to think you're being subversive, but you know, be subversive."

The mess of contradictions is already making my brain hurt but it's for Emily and with that goal in the back of my mind I stand and move towards the front door.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Where do you think you're going?"

Confusedly, I stare at her and then back at the door. Fairly sure it was obvious. "Back to my quarters?"

She strides over to me and pulls me back towards the couch. "Oh no, I have a reputation to uphold and no fuck of mine would be gone within the hour. I'm going to grab you some clothes, it's sleepover time!"

Dear God, nothing could ever be easy now could it? Looking down at the paper, I'm reminded as to why Hanna could string me up by my toes for the rest of the evening and I'd be alright with it. Reading it again, I shiver in anticipation: _Peter Hastings. One of the biggest litigators on the Capital and he represents some really important people, lots of cash. Schedule an appointment with him; ask about his son, Jason. You won't be disappointed; I bet your girl will be sitting pretty by tomorrow night._

* * *

**Author's Note: **Happy PLL day, everybody! I really really wanted to get this out before the episode aired as a PLL day present. It's one of my favorite chapters that I've written so far and I'd like to thank everyone that has stuck with me and trusted me through the great Paily separation that is only just beginning. Believe me, I have a plan and if you trust me I think you'll all be okay in the end. Enjoy people! _  
_


	16. Your Man

Chapter Sixteen: Your Man

Luckily I have the distinct inability to escape the Games. I was worried, for what turned out to be the most wasteful fifteen seconds of my life, that I would be unable to track Emily's progress while I attempted to garner some support from sponsors. Misguided indeed. After all, it's no use trying to get supplies for someone who just as well may be eviscerated by the time said supplies even arrive. Lucky for me, the fucking Games were playing on every single TV in the city.

The waiting room for one Peter Hastings was almost exactly as I'd imagined it to be. Sterile. Cold. And yet somehow, even with all of the fanfare I'd been subjected to, one of the most impressive spaces in which I've been. Fitting for a man whom, I'd learned after questioning Hanna further, specialized in the removal of culpability for a particularly nasty group of individuals, defense attorney to the rich and not so docile to be clinically specific.

The flat screen television spanning the wall in my line of sight was showing highlights from what had been a fairly uneventful morning. For the time being uneventful would work in Emily's favor and my favor but if things started getting too uneventful for too long, well, let's just say that Capital has a certain set of skills that will more than compensate for any gaps in entertainment value.

I lean just a miniscule amount forward in my seat when I see Emily's face pop-up, doing the absurd near heroic pose that the publicity team makes the tributes pose in for their promotional materials. I shudder just remembering the awful photo shoot I'd participated in, done just a day before I was set to enter the arena, photographers and prep teams poking and prodding. It's not worth another thought because I can tell the analysis team has decided on an Emily-based topic to discuss.

The receptionist seems engrossed in whatever, probably mindless, game she's playing on her computer but I need to hear what they're saying so I don't hesitate to interrupt.

"Excuse me?" I read the name placard in front of the computer. "Spencer? Can you turn up the television?"

The receptionist looks up and I'm almost shocked by the sharpness in her eyes, also, she is near devoid of the usual Capital flair. I'm not sure how I missed it on my initialize viewing but she almost seems, well, normal. And in that way she is so very abnormal. It's actually a shock to my mental palate, I'd gotten so used to judging everyone based solely upon their geographic positioning that I'd nearly forgotten to think for myself. But that's a philosophical meandering I don't actually have the time for, there will be other moments.

She narrows her eyes at me, apparently naturally suspicious of any human interaction and then nods as she mindlessly presses a few buttons on her screen. The broadcast now blares throughout the waiting room. "There you go."

I nod my gratitude before focusing in on their words. Flickerman seems to be taking point on the discussion but he's surrounded by a group of individuals, some I recognize and others I do not, all speaking emphatically.

"The field is already smaller at this point than it was last year, and still, no clear favorite has emerged. It has to be concerning that so many alliances have seemingly formed. You have to think it's possible that the alliances will have to be broken up at some point? Perhaps artificially?" Flickerman poses the question to the panelists and the sentiment resonates within me.

He has a point, I quickly rack my brain through the remaining contestants and my blood runs cold at the thought. Almost every tribute has paired themselves in an alliance with at least one other tribute, in the case of the Careers, multiple. It creates a certain supply/demand issue that must irk the Capital, Gamemaker especially, to the core.

My thoughts are cut off when another panelist, an absurd looking blonde man who, at one point, must have been quite attractive but now just looks sad speaks up.

"It's a problem, you know it's a problem and I know it's a problem. The Games are a few days old and yet, other than the initial bloodshed, nothing. I don't know about you but I'm not about to settle for an emotional human drama. I want bloodshed, the people want bloodshed and we're both unsatisfied. Something has to be done. For such a high scoring group of tribute they've been, dare I say it, dull."

Fuck. This is bad. This isn't some periphery analysis show, on the fringes of popular thought. This is THE show. Shaping public opinion about all things Hunger Games since before I can even remember. From his mouth, from the mouth of his panelists, it becomes dogma. And the official dogma of the 20th Hunger Games has just become 'Alliances Are Boring', which, does not bode well for Emily. The Careers will be fine, that's institutionalized into the Games, basically, but Emily and Toby, I need to find a way to break it up from here.

It's not my fault that thought fills me with just the slightest amount of glee. Before I can ruminate further on whether that makes me a bad person, I'm torn from my thoughts by a raspy voice that apparently belongs to Spencer the receptionist.

"He's ready for you." I must stare at her like a moron for just a moment too long because she rolls her eyes. "Making him wait will not endear him to you, I can guarantee that. Go on."

Right, she has a point. Even though I guess I'm technically intent on blackmailing him? Never mind those unsavory thoughts, I stand and knock twice quickly on Peter Hastings office door.

"Come in." Hell, even his voice sounds more important than the entirety of my life to this point. Turning the handle I ease my way into his office, stepping fully inside and shutting the door soundlessly as I enter.

He rises out of his seat as I may my way towards his desk and I find my self, almost involuntarily, extending my hand towards his. He accepts and I feel the need to introduce myself. "Paige McCullers, nice to meet you."

He slowly raises his right eyebrow, and strangely enough, mirrors the mannerisms of the receptionist outside. That's odd but not something to think too hard on. "Peter Hastings, but you already knew that because here you are. Sit, please."

Point Hastings. I sit, feeling thoroughly bested and I haven't even tried anything yet. We must sit in silence for a whole minute because he clears his throat in annoyance and checks his clock no fewer than five times. "You didn't make an appointment to waste my time, did you? Because that seems like a waste of my time and I'm a busy man, Ms. McCullers, I don't like my time wasted."

His words are meant to make me cower but shockingly have the opposite effect; I'm at once rejuvenated. His presence and his station intimidated me, so much so that I almost forgot that I actually have the upper hand in this situation.

"I'd like to speak to you about sponsoring my tribute, Emily Fields, District Four."

Peter Hastings is at once the condescending bastard I wholeheartedly expected him to be, laughing condescendingly. "Is that all? Sorry, I'm spoken for. Hate that you came all this way for nothing but I can't help you."

Hanna told me he'd say this, part of the other piece of information she'd given me before I left this morning. Smirking I realize that he doesn't even know what is about to hit him. "Oh I'm aware. Peter Hastings, not so shockingly, throws his support behind Alison DiLaurentis, District One."

His patronizing look doesn't leave his face. "I don't see what any of that has to do with you. I picked my horse, the winning one."

"Well then, I'm correct in assuming that your 'winning horse' has nothing to do with Jason?" I have no idea where this confidence, this blind bravado, is coming from but I just keep pushing through with a head of steam before it all comes crushing down. "See Peter, and this is just a hunch, but I think that your support of Alison DiLaurentis has a lot less to do with the 'winning horse' and a lot more to do with her half-brother or do you prefer it when he's called your son?"

I can see the white of his knuckles as he squeezes his hands fruitlessly around the edges of his desk. It should probably be concerning how red his face has become but I'm blissfully ignorant to consequences at this very moment.

"You're making a huge mistake, I'm not an enemy you want to have, Ms. McCullers. I will ruin you."

The smile that stretches across my face is not one that I was aware I carried in my repertoire; it's smug and just the slightest bit crass. "Let me ask again, Mr. Hastings. Will you sponsor my tribute, Emily Field, District Four, for any needs she may have throughout her duration? Final answer."

The last time someone looked like they wanted to hit me as much as Peter Hastings looks like he wants to, shockingly enough not in the Games, but my own father immediately after I returned from my win. Of course, he actually carried through but I can read in the slight dip of Mr. Hastings shoulders and the slowing of his breath that this is a battle I've just won.

Of course, this battle is not won without one last clench of his teeth and a quick but firm punch of his desk. Almost as if he can't believe a girl barely out of her teens has just bested him. "You have a deal, Ms. McCullers, but if I so much as hear a word of our little secret outside of this room you'll have a bigger problem on your hands than your worthless tribute."

Fire burns in my veins and I feel like my blood will bubble out through my chest at his valuation of Emily as worthless but if there is one thing that growing up with a similarly-minded bastard Nick McCullers has taught me, it's to pick my battles. And I've already won. So if he wants to lash out, he can do so until he's blue in the face. I've got what I need, more importantly, what Emily needs.

"I don't want any part in the details of this, you can blackmail me. You can take my money but I want no part in the details. I'll set up an automatic transfer to your account, five hundred each day your tribute manages to stay alive. Shouldn't turn out to be such an expensive investment in total. It's up to you what you spend it on, I don't fucking care."

And I don't care if he gives a shit, I won and I can't believe I won. Five hundred a day is more than sufficient. I stand abruptly, my business here is done and I don't see fit to linger past my welcome, which, according to my calculations is far past due.

"Transfer the money immediately and I'll get out of your way. It was a pleasure, Mr. Hastings."

He grunts and mumbles something, surely vulgar, about a whorehouse. Who cares, I can't wipe the smile off of my face. Spencer the receptionist gives me a knowing look as I exit through the waiting room and I can't help but wonder if she's not at all as naïve as I once presumed. In fact, from that look I'd almost bet she knows everything. I can't decide if that bothers me or not, I'm too enthusiastic to care.

Without fail I take the quickest path to the sponsorship office, making sure to check the televisions for any major updates. Again, it's no use if Emily is already dead.

The bounce in my step makes the fifteen-minute trip take about five minutes less and before I know it I'm in front of a touch screen monitor.

A balance of five hundred in currency would garner a feast in the District but at these inflated prices I'm lucky to be able to send Emily a full jug of water. Rationally though, I think, it's more than I could give her an hour ago and it's what she needs. I waste no time in pressing all of the right buttons and soon enough I'm at the optional message screen.

Before I would have given myself an ulcer over what to say, should it be romantic? Pragmatic? Short or long? But now, there's a clear message I need to convey. I can't just tell her to leave Toby; she'll think I'm jealous, think I'm trying to divide them for my own good. Her intellect would be working against her, thinking I'm jealous when in fact I am just being diligent. Her alliance will do her nothing but harm and that's not something I can fathom. No, I need to plant the seed of doubt. Finally it dawns on me.

_The more powerful and original a mind, the more it will incline towards the religion of solitude. – P_

It's a quote from one of the old books my mother used to read to me, one that beyond all odds has stuck in my head with only a few select others even years after her passing. I can only hope that Emily will be able to read between the lines.

I leave the sponsorship office and settle in front of one of the large monitors in the Capital, perched on the side of a fountain. I've made it just in time to see a jug of water being gently parachuted down towards Emily's base camp.

The parachute disengages limply towards to forest floor as she inspects the jug with a note of suspicion; I smile in pride because I would expect nothing less. She takes a tentative sip and smartly takes only a few more before closing up the jug, it's a precious resource and she knows it.

Finally she reads the note and even from her I see her brow furrow in consternation and she looks over her shoulder to make sure that Toby is nowhere to be found. She reads over the note no fewer than ten times and after much deliberation carefully folds the note and places it into her uniform pocket and slides the jug covertly into her ready pack.

Toby returns to camp just as she stands up and moves away from her hidden water. I note with satisfaction that she immediately lies to him about what she was doing, and it's subtle enough that unless you were looking for it you wouldn't notice, but as she does she unconsciously fiddles with the pocket holding my note. I simply smile, message received.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I know, I know, I know. I'm a regular pain-in-the-ass, not updating for almost two months but let me tell you what I have a really good reason. I've been in a sling and let me tell you that was almost as annoying. But I'm glad to be back and hopefully there will not be another two months before the next installment. Paige's message is a quote from Aldous Huxley in Proper Studies. Enjoy!


	17. Murky Water

Chapter Seventeen: Murky Water

It happens almost immediately. I may be only a spectator but the point is to create a storyline and boy does Emily deliver, even the morons at the commentary desk can tell she's pulling away from Toby. The only idiot who can't tell apparently is the man himself and Toby carries on, stupid face and smile altogether. Smiling as Emily grimaces her way through pleasantries that only a day ago had seemed so natural.

The tension has the desired result and the focus of Byron Montgomery had decidedly not been on the, now fragile, relationship between Emily and Toby. Perhaps he decided to hedge his bets that it would soon come apart on its own, who knows?

Instead, he'd decided to spice up the action a bit in the gruesome murder of the female tribute from District Six. Her male counterpart had been murdered by the tribute pack at the Cornucopia on the first day; despite that she'd since taken up alliance with the gentle looking boy from District Three. Together they'd beaten the odds dictated by their abysmal tribute ratings and survived.

All it took was one click, one moment of hesitation, the flash in her eyes when she realized it was over and her last moment of bravery, pushing the boy out of the way, and she was gone. Obliterated by a single pressure-sensitive mine placed by the Gamemaker and activated on the forest floor. My lunch turned in my stomach at the sight of the pieces of her body strewn across the dirt, quite horrifying really, and the boy frozen in shock and covered in blood not his own.

The message had been sent though; horribly loud and incredibly clear, alliances would no longer be tolerated. If the message had yet to reverberate throughout the arena, I'm sure they'd find some clever and no doubt torturous way to make it stick.

And then there were eleven.

Predictably crowds around the Capital ate this up, filing it under the heading of irresistible drama. Friendship punctuated by one final act of bravery and a horrific act of violence forever separating two tributes. Must see television.

The whole thing made me want to rip out my eyeballs. Maybe another time? Instead it appears that I've been summoned. Back to Hanna's apartment for what must appear to be an illicit rendezvous, and indeed in a way it will be, but certainly not in the way those keeping close tabs on us both will expect.

I take a small amount of joy in appearing to move stealthily throughout the Capital. Ducking behind fountains at the appropriate times, strafing through alleyways and taking the longest most convoluted route that I know to exist. In this city appearances are everything and who is to blame me if I'd like to take advantage of the absurdity every once in awhile. After seeing a young girl blown to bits today, I think I deserve the levity.

Once I arrive at Hanna's, I make sure to make a large orchestration out of checking to make sure the coast is clear. Knocking four times in quick succession, just as she instructed me to do, I only have to wait a moment before the door swings open and I'm accosted once more by Hanna's lips on mine as she forces me into her apartment, kicking the door closed behind us.

As soon as the door slams shut she breaks away and smirks.

I groan at her obviously pleased face, still not used to being fucked with so casually, especially not in the name of greater espionage. "Was that really necessary?"

She laughs and motions towards the couch. "Depends on your definition of necessary. Appearances, my dear Paige, you wouldn't want me to get a cold reputation would you?"

I shake my head and blank my expression. "At the expense of my chaste reputation, of course."

She cracks up and I can't help but join in, the feeling infectious. One step inside this building and a mere minute inside this space and already it's like all of my troubles fade away, metaphorically of course, as they're still quite pressing. But for one brief moment I wonder, is this what it's like to have friends?

The moment of wonder is brief as I turn towards the couch and actually take note of my surroundings. It must have been far too long since I was in the arena because my senses have been dulled, for the first time I notice that Hanna and I are not alone.

The receptionist from a couple days ago, Spencer I think, is sitting on the couch. Legs crossed almost regally and examining me with a speculative glance, though it's of note that her countenance bears a mild smirk, maybe amused by our prior antics.

"You can sit, I promise I won't bite." She rolls her eyes at me and immediately I flop into a seat, previous familiarity replaced with a crippling awkwardness that feels more at home.

"You're—." I point and she raises a hand to cut me off.

She raises a carefully plucked eyebrow and I can't believe I didn't notice how polished this woman was when I met her only days before. Perhaps my mission distracted me; still, my face betrays my confusion.

"Let me stop you right there," she extends her hand towards me and I hurry to meet her halfway. "Spencer Hastings, at your service."

Spencer Hastings. Hastings. Peter Hastings. Dear Lord, is this a setup? That's the first thing I think and immediately bullets of sweat form at the crest of my forehead. It takes every bone in my body to remain planted in my seat. Quickly I scan the apartment and note that the only exit that won't send me plummeting to my death is the front door, where Hanna is conveniently placed slowly sipping on a fruity cocktail of some sort.

Was this all an elaborate double cross? Is this what people do for fun in the Capital when they're bored?

And fuck, why didn't I bring a weapon? Note to self, assuming that I make it out of here alive: start carrying a weapon.

Wiping the sweat from my hairline, I steel my resolve and decide to handle this like a seasoned victor and not like a scared child. Staring straight into Spencer's eyes, I attempt to form my best glare. "Look, if this is where you kill me, just get it over with. I won't apologize to your father and I'm not going to partake in your rich kid games."

Spencer meets me glare and immediately dissolves into hysterical laughter. Wait, laughter? Is murder an _actual _game to her? Just when I've decided I'm about to be murdered by the most insane person, if that's even possible, in the Capital she speaks.

No, in fact, she yells across the room to Hanna. "You told me she was cute, you didn't tell me she was hilarious."

Looking behind me I can see that Hanna has also dissolved into giggles, which only makes me frown more. "Would someone mind letting me in on the joke? Today?"

Spencer gathers her emotions, with a few hiccups along the way. "I'm not here to kill you, moron, where did you think Hanna _got _that information in the first place? Scaling the walls of my fathers office?"

Hanna comes around the couch and sits between Spencer and I, throwing her arms around the both of us. "Yeah Paige, Spencer is my source. Not some assassin. And do you see these boots; I'm not climbing anything any time soon. Still think I'm about to knife you?" She motions with her index finger across her throat with a smile and it takes everything I have to not slink away in embarrassment.

Shaking my head, I bury my head in my hands and sigh. "No."

Hanna pats me on the back and ruffles my hair a bit. "Good, now pep up. I didn't summon you for a prank. Spencer has info."

And like a show model Hanna gives Spencer the floor.

Spencer, as though this is a professional presentation, literally takes the floor, standing before us like some sort of school lecture. "I'm friends with Aria Montgomery, Byron's daughter, and she let something slip when we were having dinner last night."

She pauses and it must be for dramatic effect because she seemingly is refusing to speak until I acknowledge her.

My face scrunches in confusion. "That's sounds nice?"

That seems to please her sense of drama and she continues. "Your girl is in trouble. Byron's a, how do I put this, capricious man and Emily is latest target. Aria told me he finds her boring, and if she doesn't do something to distinguish herself and soon, he's going to take care of her. Like District Six take care of her."

The hand that seems to have taken residence around my heart squeezes and accompanies the lump that's settled firmly in my throat. It's like I'm simultaneously choking to death and having a heart attack. Like an idiot I'd thought she was safe, I thought that her rudeness towards Toby would be enough.

What kind of fool am I? The kind of fool that falls in love with a woman who has a death sentence, that's who. I knew it from the beginning and was foolish enough to believe that because I'd saved myself that I was suddenly above fate that I could choose or change hers. What if it never ends? One peril after another and what if her fate all along was to die and I'm just prolonging that for the both of us? Playing judge, jury, and executioner against the laws of nature and the universe alike.

If I'm to be a fool then I'd rather be a fool in action than one that stands idly by. If she must die than I want to know that I did everything I could to prevent it. If fate must take her, or at least Byron Montgomery playing the role of fate, I'll go down bloodied and bruised before I ever give up the fight.

I realize in my reflection that Hanna and Spencer have taken to staring at me peculiarly. I rush to speak before I change my resolve. "What do I need to do? I mean is there anything I _can _do?"

Hanna's face shifts and I can see from the subtle nod by Spencer that she's been tasked to deliver this news. "She has to kill the boy."

My mind reels, its one thing to not like the kid and it's another thing to not trust him entirely but to practically order his death sentence. Worse, to coerce Emily into her first kill, even to save her own life. At what cost? She'll never be the same; I know that better than anyone. And if she ever finds out, she'll never forgive me. I remember my mantra, anything I have to do, and the decision has already been made.

I nod in agreement. "Then the boy will die."

* * *

**Author's Note: **And voila, a chapter at long last. I keep telling myself that I'll update and then all of a sudden (not so much I planned it) I go on vacation and then the term starts back up again and don't I know it, it's been a month. Hope everyone is still with me, shit is about to go down. Bon appetite, amigos!


End file.
